


a purpose worth being broken for

by ariadne83, somehowunbroken



Series: such a noble aim as love [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne83/pseuds/ariadne83, https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: John and Ryan should probably know by now how much life can change in an instant, but they're somehow still shocked by everything that happens during Matty's draft weekend. Now they have to figure out how to move forward.





	a purpose worth being broken for

**Author's Note:**

> -we started writing this last summer; it was finished before john tavares left the islanders. if this series wasn't already AU because of the ryan strome thing and also all the mpreg, it sure would be now.
> 
> -this story is heavier than the first one in the series. it deals with being the partner of someone with newly diagnosed anxiety while that person is also dealing with a hockey player's load of job-related stress and an unexpected pregnancy. it does have a happy, healthy ending, but there are a lot of bumps in the road. please keep your own self-care in mind. <3
> 
> - **trigger warning** for morning sickness, which includes emeto.
> 
> -this fic has background dylan strome/mitch marner, connor mcdavid/ryan nugent-hopkins, and taylor hall/jordan eberle.
> 
> -thanks to dean for beta reading this!
> 
> -title from sleeping at last's "noble aim," which also gives us the name for this series as a whole.

Ryan's not exactly thrilled that his trade overshadowed Matty's draft, but he's also pretty sure he's overreacting.

"Dude," Dylan says from where he's leaning in the doorway. "Are you sick? Did you manage to catch the flu in June? Because if so, no offense, but you're not allowed near me or Aiden."

Ryan just waves a hand in Dylan's general direction. If he tries to talk he's 90% certain he'll puke again.

"I mean," Dylan says, doing the exact opposite of what he'd just said and walking in. He puts his hand on Ryan's forehead, and god, he's _such_ a dad now. "You don't feel like you have a fever."

Ryan glares at him but he doesn't shove Dylan away. The last thing he wants right now is to be alone.

"Is it about the trade?" Dylan asks, voice softening. "You're allowed to be upset, Ry."

"I don't know," Ryan admits, his voice rasping painfully in his throat.

"Okay, well," Dylan says. He props himself against the vanity in the hotel bathroom. "We can get some Pepto Bismol if you need it. Or, like, saltines."

"Don't," Ryan says miserably. "No food."

Dylan sighs a little. "Right, okay. How about the medicine, though? I know it's grossly pink, but it might help."

"Pink puke is gross," Ryan complains, leaning against Dylan.

"But consider this," Dylan says. He puts a hand in Ryan's hair, ruffling it and making a little bit of a breeze. It feels nice. "It might make you stop puking long enough to get a nap in."

"Fiiiiine." Ryan is an adult and he can whine if he wants to.

"I'll text Mom," Dylan says. "She can leave Aiden with Dad and come sit with you for a second while I run to the store."

Dylan helps Ryan tip back the other way and get a good grip on the toilet. A few minutes later, there's a knock on the door, and Dylan goes to let Mom in.

"Oh honey," Mom says, stepping around Dylan to kneel on the floor next to Ryan. "How long have you been like this?"

"Most of the day," he says miserably, leaning into her side a little. He tries not to breathe on her; he doesn't remember if that'll actually help her not get sick, but it can't hurt. "On and off, mostly. Dylan's gonna go get me some Pepto."

Mom rubs his back and he can't help humming to himself a little. It feels good to have one thing he's sure of.

"Want a little water to wash your mouth out with?" she asks. "It might help if you can't taste it so much."

"Yes please," Ryan says, turning his head away so he won't spread vomit breath everywhere.

Mom gets up and turns on the tap. It runs for a minute before stopping, and then Mom hands him a cup of lukewarm water. Ryan rinses his mouth out and gets up to spit into the sink. He's not feeling adventurous enough to drink any.

"Want to try getting in bed?" Mom asks. "I can bring the trash can out for you. It'll probably be more comfortable."

"Okay." Even if he wanted to argue, Ryan doesn't have the energy. He lets Mom steady him as he walks into the bedroom on shaky legs.

He gets settled into the bed and admits to himself that he feels slightly better; he's still sort of worried he's going to start puking again, but not having to fight to keep himself mostly upright is kind of awesome.

"Anything you want to talk about before Dylan gets back?" Mom asks, sitting on the bed next to him.

Ryan looks at her a little blearily. "Getting traded sucks, and I don't want to bitch to him about it, but. Yeah."

"I know you wanted to stay," Mom says gently. "But maybe you'll get more opportunities somewhere else."

"I'll be with Davo," he mumbles. It's what he's been repeating in his head since his agent called: at least he knows he'll have someone he already knows in Edmonton. If he has to leave, at least he won't be alone where he's going.

Mom pushes his hair back off his forehead. "You're never alone, baby."

Ryan nods. He does know that, factually; it's just that sometimes his brain has a tough time believing in facts.

"John's going to be pissed," Ryan says. It's not his fault, he knows that, but also it kind of is his fault. If he'd worked harder, if he played better, none of this would be happening. John's going to be so pissed at him.

"If he is, I'll kick his ass," Mom says calmly, and it makes Ryan laugh weakly. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, honey. Trades happen, and John knows that. He loves you, Ryan, and I think he's going to be sad, not mad."

It helps, a little, but it doesn't quiet the voice in the back of his head—the one that whispers maybe John had other reasons for not wanting to live together. Maybe Ryan's not good enough; maybe he never has been.

He must doze for a little while, because the next thing he knows, Dylan's shaking him gently. "Hey, Ry. I got you some Pepto and some of the Jolly Rancher-flavored Gatorade. Think you can manage it?"

"Ugh," Ryan replies, reaching out to facewash Dylan.

Dylan just smiles and ducks out of the way. "Feeling a little better, huh?"

Ryan pushes himself upright and grimaces. "Nope, not really."

Dylan dives to grab the trash can. "Y'know," he says when Ryan's done. "I thought I was used to it, what with the whole almost-toddler thing? But it's still super gross."

Ryan would have a truly awesome comeback if he wasn't crying a little and wiping his mouth.

"Come on," Dylan says, setting the trash can down. He helps Ryan out of the bed and lets him lean as they walk towards the bathroom. "Rinse your mouth, blow your nose. I'll get the Pepto."

Ryan does as he's told but the crying won't stop. He just keeps leaking tears, and they tickle as they fall down his cheeks.

"Hey," Dylan says as he walks back in. He hugs Ryan from the side, and he doesn't let go when Ryan slumps into him. "It's okay, Ryan. I promise it'll be okay."

Ryan sniffles and scrubs at his face. "I don't know why I'm like this."

"I... have an idea," Dylan says reluctantly.

Ryan peeks through his fingers at Dylan in the mirror over the sink. "That doesn't sound promising, Dyls."

Dylan scrunches up his nose. "It's a little out there."

Ryan stands up just so he can shove Dylan a little. "Spit it out, c'mon."

"I got one other thing when I went out. Hang on." Dylan steps out, leaving Ryan to hold onto the sink for dear life.

He manages not to fall in the fifteen seconds Dylan's out of the room, which feels like a huge victory right up until he sees what Dylan had grabbed. "No. There's no way."

"Okay, so we can rule it out," Dylan says far too reasonably considering that he's holding a male pregnancy test.

"I don't have the gene," Ryan says stubbornly. "I tested negative."

"The test has a lot of false negatives," Dylan says. "Like, a _lot_. There's a whole class-action lawsuit starting up over it."

Ryan heard the same thing, and he's been ignoring it with extreme prejudice.

"Take the test, and then you can tell me you told me so," Dylan says, laying it on the counter. "Do you need the Gatorade?"

"Yes," Ryan says, glaring at him. Right now he couldn't pee if his career depended on it. Which, hopefully, it won't.

"Keep holding the sink," Dylan advises, and then he disappears again, returning with the Gatorade. He cracks the seal and hands it over. 

Ryan can't resist chirping him anymore. "Thanks, Dad."

"Two hands," Dylan fires back without missing a beat. "Drink it slow."

Ryan uses one hand to flip him off and nearly drops the bottle. Dylan smirks, and Ryan hates him just a little.

The Gatorade takes a while to get through his system, so Ryan sits on the lid of the toilet and sends Dylan "you are 100% wrong" vibes.

As it turns out, Dylan's not wrong.

"What," Ryan says faintly, staring at the little plus on the test. "Dylan. This says..."

"I got a few of them," Dylan says quietly. "Different companies, so you could test again, if you want."

Ryan holds out his hand. If his life is going to be upended after six years, he needs to be triple sure. They all say the same thing, though: pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.

"Shit," Dylan says. "I thought maybe... but I didn't actually think..." He trails off and hugs Ryan tight.

Ryan swallows hard. "John's G+ so we thought… Fuck."

"I know," Dylan says, still holding on tightly. "What do you want to do?"

Ryan can't even form a sentence that doesn't include curse words. He's supposed to be moving to Edmonton, away from his... his baby daddy, apparently.

"You don't have to know right know," Dylan adds after a moment. "Sorry. I know this isn't exactly an easy thing to think about when you think it isn't gonna happen."

Okay, yeah, that's true. It's smart. Dylan was always the smart one. But Ryan's heart is thumping hard in his chest, and all he can think is _baby_. With John's age-old eyes. A tiny little person, judging them all for their drama.

"Bed," Dylan decides when Ryan continues to not say anything. "I'll change into sweats and let Mitch know we're having bro time for the night."

Ryan puts the tests down and heads for the bedroom. Dylan steers him back to the sink to wash his hands. Ryan grimaces; he's in shock, he notices sort of distantly, but that's no excuse for forgetting.

"Am I just, like, doomed to be gross now?" he asks Dylan.

"You're a hockey player," Dylan points out. "You're already gross. It's not gonna get better, though, if that's what you're asking."

Ryan hides his face and cries.

-0-

John's trying really, really hard not to read too much into Ryan's radio silence. The Stromes have been back in Toronto for a week and Ryan still hasn't called. Dylan left for prospect camp so long ago it's almost over. He knows that Ryan's probably taking the trade badly and he wants to help, but he also doesn't want to crowd Ryan if he's processing it with his family. It sucks, being left out of something so big, but John's doing his best to deal. He called Eberle to welcome him to the team and his voice didn't crack or anything.

He's trying to figure out what the appropriate amount of no-contact time is when he walks back into his apartment a week and a half post-trade and finds Ryan sitting on the sofa, a bag of pretzels in his lap.

"You're here," John blurts out without thinking.

Ryan nods, sticking his hand into the pretzel bag and grabbing a handful. He tosses them back like they're nothing, and he doesn't say anything.

"I'm here too." Okay, that sounds really stupid. John takes a deep breath and tries again. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

Ryan laughs at that, an ugly, sad thing. "No matter what?"

John crosses the room in two strides and sits down next to him. "Of course. You asked for some time; that's the only reason I didn't call."

"What if the 'what' in 'no matter what' is a real doozy?" Ryan asks, shoving more pretzels into his mouth.

"Trades happen. We'll make it work." John reaches for Ryan's hand.

"What if it's not just the trade?" Ryan says, barely above a whisper.

John goes still. "What—are you hurt? They can't trade you if you're injured."

"Not exactly," Ryan says. He sticks his hand back into the pretzel bag.

"Are the pretzels some kind of Strome security blanket?" John tries to joke. "I haven't seen anyone that devoted to them since Dylan was pregnant with Aiden."

Ryan whips his head around and stares, his cheeks bulging with pretzels like a crazed squirrel.

"Uh," John says. "Did I say..." Then his brain catches up to what he actually _did_ say, and he squeezes Ryan's hand. "Ry?"

Ryan just keeps staring at him, and nods his head.

"You're G-negative," John says slowly.

Ryan shakes his head.

"You're," John says. He has to swallow kind of hard. "You tested false negative at the Combine, and you found out because..." His eyes drift to Ryan's stomach.

"I was sick at the draft," Ryan says, his voice still whisper-soft. "Dylan figured it out before I did."

"Oh my god," John says, feeling a little faint. "You're pregnant. _We're_ pregnant."

Ryan lets go of John's hand and pokes him in the shoulder. " _I'm_ pregnant. _You_ get to keep training."

"You're _pregnant_ ," John says, letting it settle a little. He's shocked, yeah, but he's not—the feeling in his stomach is almost 100% happiness, he's sure of it. "Oh my god, Ryan."

"Yeah, like I said, it's a doozy." Ryan flops back on the sofa and grabs another handful of pretzels.

"Are you okay?" John asks. "Like, I don't know. You said you were sick."

Ryan shrugs. "I'm not as lucky as Dylan. I've been sick for almost two weeks."

"That sounds awful," John says. "I'm sorry." He hesitates. "Do you know... do you want to keep it?"

"It's been making me sick for this long and I haven't gotten rid of it yet. What do you think?" Ryan snaps.

"I just wanted to make sure before I let myself get excited," John replies, finally letting himself smile. "We're gonna be _dads_. Wow."

"My agent says Edmonton probably won't want me," Ryan replies. "So congrats: you're stuck with me."

"Stuck with you," John repeats, laughing a little. "Ryan. If I could've fought the entire management team to get you back, I would've. Now I don't have to."

Ryan laughs again, and it's the same awful, twisted sound as before. "I'll send you a postcard from Bridgeport. Or Worcester, wherever they decide to bury me this time."

John feels the smile slip from his face. "Do you... would you rather be in Edmonton?"

"I knew you wouldn't get it." Ryan shoves himself up off the couch. "Why would Mr. Exceptional get it?"

"Hey, whoa, Ryan," John says, standing up. "I don't... you're right, I don't get what's going on. Explain it to me?"

"I think I'm gonna puke," Ryan replies, and speed-walks towards the bathroom.

He's not wrong; John hovers outside the bathroom while Ryan gets sick twice. He's not really sure what he did wrong, but Ryan's upset, and John's pretty sure he's to blame.

"I love you," John says when Ryan goes quiet.

"I know," Ryan says, sounding tired. "That's... I know, John."

"I want the three of us to be a family," John adds, just to be clear.

Ryan's shoulders hunch. "That's gonna be hard when they trade me again."

John runs a hand down Ryan's back, testing to see if he's allowed to touch. "They won't."

"I don't get to think that anymore," Ryan says, laughing bitterly. "They _did_ , John. They don't want me here. They'll try again as soon as they can."

"You'll prove them wrong," John insists. "You'll come back after the baby, just like Dylan did."

"Of course I will," Ryan says. "And then I'll be in Carolina, or LA, or, like." He shudders a little. "Hopefully not Arizona."

John drags Ryan halfway into his lap, so he can hug him without being too far from the toilet. "I love you," he repeats. "And I won't let anyone take my family."

"There is nothing you can do about it," Ryan says flatly. He's sagging against John a little, and John wonders if it'd be a good idea to take him away from the bathroom in favour of the bed. There has to be something he can do to make Ryan stop sounding like _that_.

"What if," he says, thinking fast, words tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm up for a new contract this year. They'll do whatever I ask them to do to get me to sign it. Marry me, Ry. I'll make them write it into my contract that they can't separate us."

The next thing he knows, John's sprawled on his ass in the hallway and Ryan's slamming the bathroom door shut in his face.

"What the hell," he says, bewildered. He gets up and knocks on the door. "Ryan?"

"Stay out there," Ryan warns, and fuck, he sounds like he's crying. "I'm calling Dylan to come get me."

John tries the door handle but it's locked. "Come on, Ry, we need to talk."

"Dylan," Ryan says. "Yeah, no. No, I need you to—yeah, I'm in the bathroom." There's a pause. "No. I locked him in the hallway."

John flinches and moves away from the door. What the hell did he do wrong?

There's more talking on the other side of the door, but he's far enough away that he can't make out what it is. He tries to replay their conversation in his head but it doesn't match up. It's out of sync, like they were both trying to comment on a game at Barclays but one of them was watching live and the other had stadium wifi.

He wants to check in with Ryan, but a locked door is a locked door. It doesn't matter that John has a key; what matters is that Ryan needs him to not go in there right now. John paces the hall instead, trying to figure out what he missed.

He doesn't have long to think about it before there's a knock at the front door. Dylan must have been hanging around somewhere nearby; there's no way he was at his house when Ryan called if he's here already.

John tries to brace himself for pissed off Strome as he goes to let Dylan in.

Dylan looks worried, but not actually pissed. "Which bathroom?" he asks, walking in past John.

"Down there." John waves a hand towards the hall, and Dylan heads that way. John trails after him, but the door shuts in his face again.

"What the hell," he mumbles to himself. Whatever else is going on, one thing's pretty clear to him at this point: he's not super welcome in Strome-land right now. He knocks on the door and listens to the conversation stop. "I'm gonna just... go in the bedroom," he says. "You can... just, one of you text me when you leave. I'll stay in there."

John doesn't bother waiting for a reply after that.

-0-

John mopes about pretty much everything for a day, and then he does what he always does when he finds himself in times of trouble: he calls PK.

"Johnny, my man!" PK says brightly when he picks up.

John can't help but smile, even though he's not really in a smiling kind of mood. "Hey, PK."

It's only been a couple of weeks since the Preds stumbled at the last hurdle, but somehow PK always manages to be at 100%. "What's going on down in good old Oakville?" he asks. "Does your condo miss my shining personality yet? I can come visit. I don't want your appliances malfunctioning because they're smile-deprived."

John shakes his head. "That not why they malfunction. I've heard I shouldn't be allowed in the kitchen before coffee."

PK gasps dramatically. "John Albert Tavares. Are you insinuating that your refrigerator isn't in love with me?"

"Not my middle name," John says, but now he's smiling again. "How's your summer so far?"

"Oh, man, been spending it with my family," PK says eagerly, and then launches into the nearly-endless well of family stories he can pull out at any given moment.

"How did the kids like Nashville?" John asks, because he is absolutely not avoiding talking about himself.

"They loved it," PK replies. "My niece looked so awesome in her Preds gear and bonnet. She's the cutest baby in the world, no contest, end of discussion."

John snorts. "I have no doubt you took a thousand pictures. But, uh. I might have a contender for the title."

"Nieces-in-law don't count," PK says immediately. "So say the rules that I'm making up right now. Especially when you haven't put a ring on her uncle yet."

John wheezes; it feels like all the air has been knocked from his lungs. "I, uh," he forces out. "I tried. He's pregnant and, um. He doesn't want me." John's tried to piece things together, since Ryan left, and it's the best he can come up with.

"Run that by me again," PK says softly.

John closes his eyes. "He found out pretty much right when he was traded," he says. "And I asked him to marry me, but he pushed me out of the room and then locked the door and called Dylan to rescue him. I haven't heard a word from him since."

"Well, shit. That's a lot." PK sighs. "Wish I was there, Johnny."

"Me too," John says, forcing a little laugh. "This is really shitty."

"What did he actually say?" PK asks.

John laughs. "Not much. He didn't talk to me for a week after he found out, and he hasn't talked to me since he told me."

PK sighs. "I'm sorry, man. If I wasn't at this tennis thing, I'd already be on my way to your place with _so many_ boneless wings."

John slumps down in his seat. In the back of his mind he'd held some tiny amount of hope that he was reading this wrong. "Maybe I'll call for delivery," he forces out. "Nothing says 'I've been dumped by the guy who's having my kid' like gorging on wings alone on a Thursday, right?"

"That sounds way too sad," PK replies. "Come on, pick your poison. Just this once I'll sing whatever you want."

It's a sign of true friendship, because for all the things John and PK have in common, music isn't one of them. "Sing me something country, Nashville boy," John says.

PK immediately breaks into "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy."

John starts laughing halfway through the first verse, but then it catches in his throat.

"Aw, buddy," PK says, cutting off mid-verse. "You know what? I can't be there, which, like. Total suck. But you know who's home for the summer and would love to wing it up with you tonight?"

"Who?" John chokes out. He really hopes it's someone he doesn't have to pretend to be human for.

"Stammer," PK says, and John exhales and relaxes a little. "Tell you what, I'll tell him the basic deets so you don't have to go through it again, and then I'll tell him it's his solemn duty as a bro to pick up wings and terrible beer and bring them over."

"Yeah," John manages to say. "Stammer's okay." The three of them have the kind of history nobody talks about, but they all know where they stand. Things happen in juniors, and at Worlds, and then you all move on and laugh about it.

"I mean, he's not _me_ , but he'll do in a pinch," PK says. He laughs a little, and then his voice softens. "I'll be home soon, okay? I'll come hang."

"I'll make up the spare bed," John promises. There's no guarantee PK will actually use it, because he's a real-life cuddle monster, but it's the thought that counts.

Sure enough, PK laughs, easy like always. "Yeah, Stammer's gonna need it," he says. "Lightweight."

Stammer's knocking on his door less than an hour later; John decides against asking him exactly how much he sped, because he's really just glad someone's here. John shows him in and takes the beer off his hands.

"PK said it was an emergency," Stammer says seriously. "I called ahead to the wing place and had them give me three wings in each sauce flavor. Wing taste-testing might not cure everything, but it can't hurt."

"PK knows how to sell an emergency," John observes.

"The man knows how to choose his words," Stammer agrees, putting down the—holy shit, _two_ full takeout bags. He looks back at John. "He told me what's going on. I'm sorry, man, but also, congratulations."

John ducks his head. "Yeah, I was excited for about five minutes. Then he walked out on me." He spends some quality time wrestling with his beer, and Stammer waits him out. "I don't even know if Ryan's staying in New York," he adds eventually.

"Which part of this do you want to tackle first?" Stammer asks. John looks up, thinking he's talking about the wings, but Stammer's looking straight at him. "You want to talk about the baby, or about Ryan going off the grid, or the trade, or..."

John thinks about it for a minute. All of those things are tangled together, and he doesn't have control over any of them. Doesn't get to have a say.

"I told him I loved him and he didn't say it back," he says. It's as good a place as any to state. "He just said 'I know.' We've both said it a ton in the past, but now..."

"Call me stubborn, but that wouldn't be enough for me," Stammer replies. "I'd want to hear him actually say he's done."

"I'd like to hear him say anything at this point," John says. "He hasn't answered any of my texts, and I don't want to call and hear him send me to voicemail."

"PK was right," Stammer mutters, as he moves over and wraps John in a hug.

"He usually is," John says, leaning into the hug. "I won't tell if you don't." He doesn't cry; part of him really wants to, but he'd tried after Ryan left with Dylan. He just feels numb, honestly.

"I guess you can't just show up on his parents' doorstep," Stammer says after some quality hug-time has gone by.

"No," John says. "I mean, I don't think they'd chase me away with pitchforks or anything, but... no." Plus, he's not even sure Ryan's there. It's entirely possible that he's hiding out at Dylan's place, or in New York packing, or who knows where else.

"Is there someone else you can call? One of his brothers, or someone he'll listen to from the team?"

"I don't," John starts, but then he reconsiders. "Maybe Mitch. Dylan's husband." He's the least likely to bite John's head off even if everyone else is pissed at him, and he's also a good listener, based on all the rave reviews John's heard.

"Okay," Stammer says firmly, in what John's pretty sure is his captain voice. "Tonight: beer and wings. Tomorrow: we come up with a game plan for the in-laws."

John flinches. "Can we not call them that?" he asks. He's a little raw right now.

"Beer and wings," Stammer repeats. "No thinking about tomorrow until tomorrow."

"I'll drink to that," John says, grabbing a beer.

-0-

Stammer remains very, very strongly of the opinion that John needs to hear Ryan actually say it's over before he decides anything. John knows he's got a point, but he's also got a bunch of stuff to think about before actually trying to convince Ryan to talk to him.

The Isles think his contract should be at the top of the list, but John's not sure how to talk to them right now without losing it. But then, as Stammer reminds him, that's what agents are for. He's not even sure what to tell his agent, honestly; saying Ryan had balked at the idea of John making sure they stayed together is putting it lightly, so that's out, but John doesn't want to sign the rest of his career over to the Isles if Ryan's going to run as soon as he can.

"Just because they want you to re-sign now doesn't mean you have to," Stammer points out. "You can wait as long as you want."

"And be the center of all the drama like you were?" John says, smirking a little. "No thanks. I don't like the spotlight that much."

Stammer starts laughing. "Right, I forgot, you're a drama-free zone."

John pushes him off the sofa, mostly because he can. He does take Stammer's advice, though: he tells his agent he's not interested in negotiating yet. His agent doesn't push him on it, which is a minor miracle, and John doesn't want to think about how bad he must sound.

Stammer makes them both lunch, and John would feel bad about being such a terrible host but his hands are shaking. Hopefully it's just from blood sugar crash. Stammer doesn't say anything about it, because he's a good bro like that.

"It's Ryan's birthday on Tuesday," John says, staring at the sandwich Stammer put together. "I don't… I got him something."

"I'm sorry," Stammer says. "Do his birthday late, maybe? Give it to him after you talk to him?"

John shrugs. It's not worth explaining the nice hotel room, the night out on the town, the plans he'd had to just be with Ryan like they never have time for during the season. "Maybe."

"Sorry," Stammer says again, and John just nods and eats.

As they're cleaning up their dishes, Stammer clears his throat. "So, I was thinking about going for a run," he says. "If you want to make a personal call while I'm gone..."

"Maybe I'll text Mitch," John replies. He's not up to the possibility that Mitch might not answer his phone either, but it's easy to miss a text, so if he doesn't hear back… Well, Mitch has the excuse of being a dad.

"You do that," Stammer says sternly. "I will check your messages when I get home, Tavares. Don't think I won't."

It's an empty threat and they both know it. On the other hand, they both know what PK will say if John keeps sitting around moping.

John pulls out his phone and waves it at Stammer. "Go run. I need privacy." In case he cries, mostly, even if he's pretty sure he won't. Stammer punches him in the shoulder and goes to get changed, which is pretty much hockey player for "I've got your back."

John does actually wait for him to leave to send his text; he's not sure why he decided to wait, but he's really glad he did, because his phone rings less than a minute after he sends it.

"Dude!" Mitch says at 120% enthusiasm. "It's good to finally hear from you."

John blinks a little. "Was I... supposed to call you?" He doesn't think he was, but he'll be the first to admit he's been kind of distracted.

"No, it's just nice to talk to someone who isn't a Strome," Mitch replies.

It's on the tip of John's tongue to joke about marrying into the wrong family, but his throat seizes up before he can force it out. He swallows past the lump and manages a weak laugh. "Glad to make your day, then."

Aiden shrieks in the background, and Mitch calls back, "I know! I'm right here!"

John can't help smiling a little. "Is she trying to walk yet?"

"Yeah," Mitch says proudly. "You should come over and see. She can pull herself up on the sofa. Super good baby biceps."

John lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Aiden's become part of his life in the last six months; losing her would be icing on top of the shitty cupcake he's been dealing with.

"I don't want to, uh, intrude," John says. "If Ryan's..."

"He's at his parents' for a few days," Mitch says. "Dylan's at the gym. It's just me and Aiden, if you want to get out of the house."

John nods, and then remembers Mitch can't see him. "Okay, I'll come over."

"Great," Mitch says, and John can practically hear him beaming. "Hey, Aiden, Uncle John's gonna come play with you!"

Aiden lets loose a stream of loud babble, which John chooses to interpret as happy. At least one of the Stromes still likes him. "Need me to get anything on the way over?" he asks. If there's one thing the end of the season had taught him, it's that babies always need something, all the time.

"You can never go wrong with Cheerios," Mitch replies. "She just ate but by the time you get here it'll be snack time again."

"Oh oh oh oh," Aiden yells.

"That's right, Cheerios," Mitch says. John privately thinks she's just making noise, but maybe she really is trying to talk. It's anyone's guess, really.

"I'll be there soon," John promises. He knows better than to get between Aiden and food. He's a little surprised Mitch made the rookie mistake of mentioning a tasty snack without immediately having it at hand.

"Say bye bye," Mitch instructs. "Aww, she's waving."

John snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure she is."

"She does that now," Mitch says earnestly. "I'm trying to get her to blow kisses, but mostly she just whacks herself in the mouth and then gets grumpy."

"Tell her I'll see her soon," John says, smiling as he hangs up.

He gets ready pretty quickly, and almost forgets to text Stammer to let him know where the spare key is. Stammer just texts him back three thumbs-up emojis, so John figures he's good to go. He gets three different kinds of Cheerios at the store, because it never hurts to be prepared for the whims of babies. Plus, he's been wanting to try the fruit ones for ages, and this gives him the perfect excuse.

John feels a little ridiculous standing on the front doorstep of Connor McDavid's mcmansion with his arms full of cereal, but he's not there for long. Mitch pulls the door open, and Aiden pretty much launches herself at him. John drops the cereal and grabs her, and she grins up at him, babbling away.

"Hi," John says softly. "I missed you too."

She sticks her entire fist in her mouth and smiles at him around it.

"Come in before she decides to make a break for freedom." Mitch steps back to make room.

"I brought some Cheerios," John says, glancing at the boxes on the porch as he walks inside. Aiden shrieks around her fist.

Mitch laughs. "You brought all the Cheerios. Favourite uncle status is restored."

"Do you want some Cheerios?" John asks, bouncing Aiden and resolutely ignoring how he probably stole the title from Ryan. "I didn't know what kind you were in the mood for, so I got you regular, the multi-grain ones, and the fruity ones."

Aiden headbutts him in the chest, so he probably did good. It's one thing that hasn't changed.

-0-

Mitch Marner-Strome is a good person. It's not like this is news to John, but he waits until John gives Aiden her Cheerios, then a bottle, and then puts her down for a nap without mentioning Ryan even once. Honestly, it's pretty damn great. It's impossible to be sad when John has his arms full of happy, sleepy baby. She falls asleep smiling and clutching his shirt, and John makes the arms-to-crib transfer without a hitch. He sort of wants to stand there and watch her sleep, but he did come over here for more than just the baby snuggles.

John braces himself, and walks back out to the living room. Mitch takes one look at his face and grimaces.

"You look like you need a hug."

"I mean," John starts, but that's kind of where he ends, too. It doesn't really matter; Mitch moves over and wraps him up in a hug without further instruction.

"So," Mitch says to John's collar bone. "How have you been?"

"I've had better weeks," John admits, hugging back.

Mitch squeezes him extra-hard one last time before letting go and stepping back. "What the hell happened?"

John rubs at his eyes a little. He's not tearing up or anything, but he feels like he should check to make sure. "Ryan didn't tell you everything?"

"Ryan's not making any sense." Mitch flops down onto the sofa and pats the space beside him.

"I'm not sure I can make anything make sense, either," John warns as he sits. "He, uh. You know about..." He trails off, not really sure how to ask about the baby.

Mitch wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, it's pretty obvious. I haven't seen anyone puke that much since Aiden started eating solids."

"He told me about it—or, well, he kind of made me guess," John says. "And then he got upset when I talked about us being a family, and even _more_ upset when I asked him to marry me."

Mitch's eyebrows try to escape off the top of his head. "Okay, that's nothing like what Ryan said."

John's almost afraid to ask, but he has to know. "What did Ryan say?"

"That you don't get it, and you don't want him." Mitch pats John on the arm. "Don't worry, I talked Dylan and Matt down from egging your house."

"He thinks..." John says, too focused on the first part to worry about revenge pranks. "How could he possibly think I don't want him? He's all I want. He's all I've wanted for years, Mitch." He pauses to take a steadying breath. "I asked him to _marry_ me."

Mitch shakes his head. "I don't know, dude. Like I said, he's not making a whole lot of sense. And I'm playing telephone, because he won't talk to anyone but Dylan."

"I love him," John says, looking at his hands. "I want to talk to him, to figure this out, but if I call him right now, he won't answer." He hasn't tried because he wants to give Ryan a little space, but he also knows that he'd get ignored, and he doesn't want to have to face the reality of that yet.

Mitch sighs. "Well you need to do _something_. You're still on the same team."

"We are?" John asks. That's news to him, thanks to Ryan's radio silence.

"You didn't hear?" Mitch asks, surprise evident in his voice. "Yeah. Retroactive LTIR, which lets the Oilers back out, since the trade was for a Ryan who'd be able to play in the fall." He hesitates a little. "They, um. You're still getting Eberle, but they're getting a rookie and a prospect instead of Ryan."

"Oh," John says on a rushed exhale. He's so relieved he wants to cry. "Good. That's— yeah."

Mitch reaches over and pats his shoulder. "Need a minute?"

"He didn't tell me."

"He's kinda messed up about things right now," Mitch says softly. "Dylan had—they call it baby brain? Where the hormones just really fuck with you and how you react to everything. I think maybe finding out he'd been traded and that he was pregnant in the same weekend might have screwed with his head more than we thought."

John nods, because yeah, that makes sense. But Ryan shutting him out still hurts, and it's not a good sign for what John had thought was a pretty solid future. "He got worse when I said I wanted us to be a family. I think— I figured he wants to dump me."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true," Mitch says instantly, frowning. "I get why you'd think that, based on what you've said, but... nothing Dylan's said to me makes me think that he doesn't want you."

John's even more confused now than when he walked in the door. "I know he wants the baby, and so do I. But I'm not going to pressure him into being with me if it's not working."

"I mean, I can't tell you for absolute certain," Mitch says, sighing a little. "But at the draft, before the trade and before he started getting sick? All he would talk about was how excited he was to get home and figure stuff out with you for next season."

John drops his head into his hands. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I don't really know what else to tell you," Mitch says. "He loves you. That's all I've got here. I wish I could tell you more, but..."

"I wish I could talk to him," John says, trying not to sound as miserable as he is. "I wish I could make him answer the phone so I could ask him what I did wrong. I want to fix it." He has no idea how it all turned into a mess so fast.

"He has to talk to you before too much longer," Mitch says. He's worrying at his bottom lip a little, like he's trying to come to a decision. After a minute, he sighs. "He's got an appointment with the obstetrician in a week or so. Dylan said he told him to call you about it, but apparently he hasn't taken that advice yet."

John can't help laughing, even if it comes out more like a sob. "Right, of course. Why would he call me for something like that? It's just our kid."

"I'm gonna have a talk with him," Mitch says in his dad voice. John's pretty sure he's not doing it on purpose. "Either he can call and give you the details, or I'll tell you myself and let him know you'll be there. He doesn't get to cut you out of your kid's life." He shoots John a small, tired excuse for a smile. "But, like. Don't try to ambush him with feelings talk at the appointment. I don't think Dr. Hewitt will throw you guys out, but I'd like to keep a good relationship with her for the future."

John takes a deep breath. "No feelings. I can do that." Well, probably. At least until after the appointment.

And if Ryan still doesn't want to talk afterward, then John has his answer.

-0-

It's not like John is waiting by his phone or anything, but it still feels like the longest two days of his life between when he talks to Mitch and when Ryan finally calls him. Seeing Ryan's name pop up on his screen almost doesn't feel real, after a week that felt like a month. He almost just stares until it goes to voicemail, but he shakes himself out of it and picks up before it stops ringing. "Ryan?"

"Hi." Ryan's voice sounds rough, like he just spent a day yelling chirps at the Rangers. John has to push down the urge to ask if he's okay, if he's been sick again, if he's been crying or something.

"I'm glad you called," he says instead, because that seems safe.

"Yeah," Ryan says. It's not exactly an encouraging response, but Ryan keeps going before John can say anything. "Look, I'm... if nothing else, it's your kid, too. I have a prenatal appointment next week, and you should be there, if you want."

John swallows hard, and mentally recites his new mantra: don't ambush Ryan with feelings. "Of course I'll be there."

"Okay," Ryan says, letting out a breath that gusts over the line. "Okay, good. It's, um. I'm seeing Dylan's doctor, so."

"Someone we already know. That's good, Ryan." If nothing else, at least they won't have to make introductions and explain Ryan's family history.

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. "They sent a bunch of paperwork to me so I could fill it out beforehand and then just bring it in. It asks for a bunch of your family history, too."

John takes a deep breath. "Do you want me to—I can come over and fill it out, if you want."

"I could drop it off to you," Ryan says. "You don't have to—I mean. If that's easier."

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" John blurts out without thinking.

"You're fucking kidding me, right," Ryan says flatly. "I'm pregnant, John. I didn't break my legs or arms or brain."

"You're sick," John replies. "And you get dizzy when you're dehydrated. I just thought… Never mind."

There's a pause like Ryan's thinking something through. "I do get dizzy," he says, voice kind of small. "But I'm on top of it, I swear. Drinking plenty of fluids."

"I should've known Dylan would dad the hell out of you." John can't help smiling a little; the Stromes are the Stromes, as always.

"It's not even Dylan," Ryan says, and that might actually be a laugh. "It's Mitch. He's way worse."

John laughs along with him, and the knot of worry in his stomach eases. "I mean, Dylan and Aiden turned out pretty well," he says. "At least I know you're in good hands."

Ryan's breath catches. "Yeah, they're good. Everything's good." His voice is wobbling, though, so John’s less than convinced.

John takes a deep breath. He's got a lot he wants to tell Ryan, but there's one thing he definitely _needs_ to say before Ryan hangs up. "I'm gonna be there," he promises. "Whatever the baby needs, everything I can possibly do, I'm gonna do it." He hesitates a little. "Even if you, uh. Don't want me around as more than a co-parent."

"What? Who told you that?" Ryan demands. It's the most energy John's heard him put into anything in a long time.

John blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, trying to figure out how to reply. "It's kind of the feeling I got," he says cautiously, trying not to let anything like hope bloom in his chest. "I mean, the last time we talked didn't exactly... end up going well."

"Well it's bullshit," Ryan snaps.

"It is?" John asks, honestly astonished. "I... you still..."

"What the fuck, John."

"You shoved me out of the room and locked the door," John says, trying for level. "And then didn't talk to me for a week, and Mitch said that Dylan and Matty were so mad at me that he had to talk them out of egging my house."

Ryan makes a disgusted noise. "That's Dylan and Matty. They're idiot kids."

"It wasn't the eggs that worried me, it was the part where they thought they should," John says. "I figured you were just... I don't know, Ryan. Figuring out how to break it off with me."

"Well I wasn't. I'm not." Ryan sniffles, and John abruptly remembers he was supposed to avoid a Feelings ambush. "Is that what you want? Because if you're trying to break up with me, turning it around so it looks like it was my idea is a dick move."

"No, Ryan, no way," John says hastily. "No part of me wants to break up with you, okay? Not at all." He bites his tongue so he doesn't blurt out _I miss you_. That's definitely Feelings territory.

"Okay," Ryan says, sounding like he's trying not to shake apart. John wishes he was there to give him a hug.

"Do you want me to come over to fill out that paperwork, or do you want to come over here?" John asks. "We can talk more if you want, but if you'd rather wait, we can wait. I don't want to pressure you, Ry."

"I'm really tired," Ryan confesses. "Like, all the time, but especially right now. Can I get one of the Stromarners to drop it off?"

"Yeah, absolutely," John says immediately. "Send them with Aiden. I found these cute hair bows at Shoppers. They have bells in them."

"She loves bells." Ryan launches into reminiscing about Aiden's first Christmas, because he can't help being a proud uncle. It's one of the things John loves best about him. His heart clenches when he realizes that in a little while, a matter of months, Ryan's going to be that proud again, but this time it'll be _their_ kid.

"She's going to love having a cousin to grow up with," John says softly.

"She is," Ryan agrees, voice going wobbly again. He chokes out a little laugh. "Oh man, she's gonna have to learn how to share."

John thinks about that for a minute and then he cracks up. "Do you think her bear growl is going to come back?"

"As long as she doesn't develop a bear bite, I think we'll be okay," Ryan says, laughing with him.

John's both relieved that they found a safe topic to talk about and utterly unsurprised that it's Aiden. "Just wait until she realises she has to share _you_."

"And you," Ryan retorts. "By the way, money's on your name being the first one she says that's not her dads or grandparents."

"That's only because all of you actually use my name instead of dubious nicknames," John points out.

"It's because you bribe her with Cheerios and hair bows with bells on them," Ryan contradicts. "We know what you're doing, John, but she's too cute for us to make you stop."

They chirp back and forth for a while about which one of them is the bigger pushover. It's nice, John thinks, and it's definitely helping him relax about how things have been going. It's super possible that he and Ryan just weren't on the same wavelength the last time they talked, and that things will go back to normal after they talk it out. He's not going to say anything like that out loud just yet, though; he doesn't want to jinx it.

They hang up with Ryan promising to send Mitch and Aiden over for a paperwork-hair bow exchange, and John feeling hopeful about how things are going.

-0-

The paperwork-for-hair bows transfer goes well; John puts one bow in Aiden's hair and one in Mitch's, and then gets a great video of them shaking their jingly bells at each other and cackling. He sends it to the Strome group chat, then sits down to fill out all the forms. It goes quickly, because John's very used to signing over permission for people to talk about his health care. Hockey players are nothing like average people when it comes to TMI.

They're ready to go three entire days before the appointment, but John manages to leave them sitting on the counter and not use them as an excuse to go visit Ryan. He does text Ryan a picture, though, just so he knows John's taking this seriously. Ryan sends him back a smiley face emoji and an invitation to the appointment on Google Calendar.

John makes that smiley face his background for three days, because nobody's there to chirp him. Stammer went home after John talked to Ryan and didn't immediately fall apart.

He's about an hour's drive from the doctor's office, so he grabs the papers two hours before the appointment starts and heads to his car. He's been stuck in enough Toronto traffic to know better. When he gets to the doctor's office he texts Ryan, and gets back a thumbs up.

He walks into the office and looks around, but there's no sign of Ryan. He's probably on his way, John reasons, and walks up to give his paperwork to the woman behind the desk. "Uh, hi," he says, waving it at her. "This is for Strome?"

"Great, let me take that for you," she says brightly.

John hands it over and looks around. "If you need anything else," he says, gesturing awkwardly to the chairs.

"I'll let you know, Mr. Strome."

John blinks a few times. "Uh, Tavares," he says. "Strome is my partner's name."

She glances down at the paperwork and apologises for the mistake. John's just glad she said it to him, not Ryan. He nods and pulls his phone out, bringing up his conversation with Ryan. _Almost here?_

Ryan sends back another thumbs up, and all John can do is frown at his phone while he tries not to over-analyse an emoji.

It's a few more minutes before Ryan appears, looking flushed and sweaty and still like pretty much the best thing John's ever seen. John stands up and ends up awkwardly hovering. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"Water," Ryan replies, grimacing. "My mouth tastes like puke."

John nods and looks around, spotting a dispenser in one corner of the office. It doesn't take him long to fill a cup and bring it back. "D'you want to go back to the bathroom and rinse?"

Ryan shakes his head. "I did that already. But thanks." He manages a tiny smile, and John has to resist the urge to bear hug him. He sits next to Ryan instead, looking around the waiting room so he doesn't turn and stare.

"Can I...?" Ryan says quietly after a few minutes, and reaches out to knock his free hand against John's.

John laces their fingers together without hesitation.

Ryan sighs a little and presses their shoulders together. "I really hate being sick," he confesses.

John bites back a smile. "I know." Ryan turns into a worse cuddle monster than Aiden when he's not feeling good.

Ryan opens his mouth again, probably to complain more, but the door opens and a nurse pokes his head out. "Mr. Strome?"

Ryan grits his teeth like he's bracing for a firing squad.

"It'll be fine," John assures him, squeezing Ryan's hand.

"Sure," Ryan says, like he's been asked to run line drills for the next three hours with no breaks.

They get up and head towards the nurse, Ryan clinging to John's hand in a way that absolutely does not make John's heart do somersaults. They do all the stuff John associates with doctors: weight, measurement, a list of basic questions, and then they're left to wait for Dr. Hewitt.

Ryan's looking kind of green again, so John gets him the waste basket. "Ugh," Ryan says, and then he's retching again. 

John leaves to get him some more water, and by the time he comes back Dr. Hewitt is there. 

"Hi, I'm John," he says, holding out his free hand.

"Hi John," she says, shaking his hand. "Thanks for being on water duty."

Ryan flaps a hand in John's general direction. "It's his turn. He didn't have to deal with Dylan."

"Well, then, he's making up for it now," Dr. Hewitt says, clearly amused. "Other than the nausea, any other strange things going on?"

"My feet won't fit in my shoes."

John glances down, and sure enough Ryan's wearing sandals. Which is fine, because it's July, but what happens when they go back to New York?

"Okay," Dr. Hewitt says, like that's not a concern at all.

John sits back and keeps his mouth shut. He's not on solid enough ground with Ryan yet to risk saying anything. Dr. Hewitt and Ryan do more of the question-and-answer stuff; it's all kind of fascinating to John, and he tries to compare it with what he remembers of Dylan's pregnancy. Other than the pretzel thing, it seems like almost an entirely new experience.

"So, are you ready to take a look?" Dr. Hewitt says brightly.

"Yes," John blurts out, then looks at Ryan. "Uh, I mean. If Ryan wants."

Ryan manages a tiny smile.

John glances at Dr. Hewitt, then leans closer to Ryan and lowers his voice. "If you want me to go wait in the waiting room, I will." It would probably kill him to do it, but he'd manage. Somehow.

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Don't be an idiot."

"I just don't want you to be uncomfortable," John says, smiling back a little. "Sorry. I'm... sorry." Probably they'll both be saying that for a little while, at least. Until things get back to normal.

Ryan gets up, and he pauses to squeeze John's shoulder before heading over to the exam table. He's got locker room modesty, which is to say that he doesn't even blink when Dr. Hewitt asks him to unbutton his pants and slip them down a little.

John hangs back until Ryan turns his head to look at him. "Get over here. And bring a box of tissues, because I'm probably going to cry."

"Okay," John says, grabbing the tissues and bringing them over. That's another thing Ryan and Dylan have in common, then.

Dr. Hewitt hands Ryan a paper towel to tuck into the top of his pants, and John rests his hand within grabbing reach for Ryan.

"Dylan told me the gel would be warm," Ryan says, glancing at John. "He was very excited to tell me all about the lube warmer."

"Sometimes I remember that Dylan's a dad and I just..." John shakes his head, grinning.

"Tell me about it," Ryan agrees. He smiles and grabs for John's hand as Dr. Hewitt grabs the gel, and then he and John both turn to watch the monitor.

-0-

John's a little nervous about asking Ryan back to his place after the appointment, like Ryan hadn't practically lived there before the draft. Ryan smiles at him and tells John he'll meet him there, and then walks over and gets into Dylan's car. John turns on the radio so he won't have to drive home alone in silence, and tries to wrap his head around everything that just happened.

Everything's normal, Dr. Hewitt had said, and John smiles again in relief. The baby had actually looked like a little baby, and even though John had been expecting that based on Dylan's pregnancy, it still kind of took his breath away. He can't help smiling and tapping his hands on the steering wheel. If he does a car dance at a stoplight, no-one can prove it.

It's not that long before he gets home, and Ryan rings the bell before John has time to worry about him changing his mind. It's weird to open the door and let Ryan in when he's had a key for years, but they're working on it.

"Let's, um." John's hands are sweating, so he wipes them on his jeans. "Sofa?"

"Sure, let's sofa," Ryan teases.

John laughs and gestures towards the living room. "Pick your seat. And, uh, pick mine, I guess."

Ryan raises an eyebrow, then walks into the living room. He sits on the sofa and makes a show of looking at the loveseat and the recliner before patting the cushion beside him. John makes himself walk over to the sofa, instead of skipping or something.

They just kind of look at each other for a minute, and then Ryan's face breaks into a huge smile. "It looks like a real baby already," he says, voice kind of awed.

"Right?" John grins so wide his face hurts.

"Thirteen weeks, three days," Ryan says, shaking his head a little. "The whole first trimester, and I just thought I caught the flu at the draft."

John raises an eyebrow. "Three months puts it back in April."

"Yeah," Ryan says. He frowns a little and pulls out his phone. "Dylan was talking about some kind of conception calculator thing."

John leans close, watching over Ryan's shoulder as he searches. Ryan plugs in the numbers that Dr. Hewitt had given them and John holds his breath a little.

"April 24th," John reads. "Shit, we didn't waste any time."

Ryan starts laughing. "I'm just glad it was after the end of the season," he says. "I never thought I'd be glad about missing the playoffs, but..."

"Yeah," John agrees. He puts his arm around Ryan's shoulders, moving slow so Ryan can push him away if he wants to.

Ryan sighs and leans into John, making himself comfortable. "Due in January," he says, like he's testing the words out. "By the way, you're not going to the All-Star game if I'm having the baby around then. You're welcome."

"Oh no, that's terrible," John replies. "You know how much I love being in the middle of a media circus."

"We've got your back," Ryan says, patting at his stomach. There's no change that John can see, but it still makes his breath catch.

John pulls Ryan closer and kisses the top of his head. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm sorry I freaked out," Ryan says, voice small. "Can we... can we maybe talk about it? But, like, I might need to stop. I don't want to freak out again."

"Of course. Whatever you need." John would do just about anything to not have Ryan walk out on him again.

Ryan nods, then takes a deep breath. "I know you don't get why I got so upset."

"I'm still here, though," John says. "I'm listening."

"I love you," Ryan says quickly. "I'm sorry I didn't say it then. I do, though."

"I know," John replies. "I love you too. But you scared the shit out of me. I thought you left and you weren't coming back."

"I'm sorry," Ryan says, and yeah, he sounds kind of miserable about it. "I just... look, this is going to sound dumb when I say it out loud, so bear with me, okay?"

John nods.

"I thought the baby was the only reason you wanted me to move back in with you."

" _Ryan_ ," John says, a little shocked. "I'm... I love you. _You_. And the baby, but..."

"I know," Ryan cuts in. "I told you it was stupid." He pulls away, and shifts down the sofa so he can tuck his knees up against his chest.

"No, hey," John says, moving with him. He sits next to Ryan and puts his hand out; he doesn't want to push, but he doesn't want Ryan to think he's mad or upset or anything. Mostly he's just confused. "I just... I want you to move in with me. Here, in Brooklyn, anywhere you want to have a place to live, I want to be there with you."

Ryan wraps his arms around his knees. "I _know_ that, but I just couldn't... In the back of my head, I thought maybe there was another reason we lived apart last season. Maybe there was something else going on and you were too nice to tell me."

John sucks in a breath and holds it for a few seconds. "I wanted us to date for real," he finally says. "And I didn't want to get between you and Aiden bonding. That's it, Ryan. I swear there was no other reason."

Ryan nods his head. "See, I know that. But it was like my brain kept blue screening. All I could think was: that's what he _says,_ but what if." He shrugs. "What if he changed his mind and now he's stuck. What if he's figured out you suck, what if it's your fault we missed the playoffs..."

John swallows hard. "Can I hug you?" he asks hoarsely. He's not sure how else to respond to what Ryan's saying.

Ryan nods and leans towards him a little. "I already felt like shit. And then when I found out about the baby—this wasn't supposed to happen. I'm letting Dylan down, I'm letting the team down—"

"You are not letting anyone down," John says fiercely, tugging Ryan in. "Not a single person thinks that, Ry. Just because we didn't plan on this happening, because we didn't _know_ it could happen, that doesn't mean you're letting anyone down."

Ryan takes a deep, shaky breath. "You never wanted this. We were trying to prevent it. And I know you always wanted kids but that doesn't mean you wanted to be stuck having one with me."

"That's not true at all," John blurts out before he can think of a better way to say it. "I... I definitely thought about it. Us. I, um." He can feel himself blushing. "I had a plan, actually."

Ryan turns to stare at him. "What plan? You never said anything about a plan."

"I didn't want to scare you off if you weren't thinking about it," John admits. "But I thought... I can carry, and we thought you couldn't. I figured after I retired, we could maybe ask Dylan to donate, and then we could have a kid who was still related to both of us."

Ryan just keeps staring. He looks winded, almost, like someone hip checked him into the wall during practice when he wasn't expecting it.

"We hadn't talked about kids, though," John says. He feels like he needs to keep talking, to fill up what might very well be an awkward silence. "Or, like. The future, what we wanted..." He shrugs a little. "I was going to bring it up when we were ready to move back in together. I was trying to do things in the right order, instead of laying it all out there and freaking you out."

"Not knowing things is what freaks me out," Ryan counters.

"Everything freaks you out!" John blurts out without thinking.

Ryan makes a face that looks exactly like Aiden when you take her toys away and tell her it's time to sleep.

"Sorry," John adds hastily. "It's just, sometimes I feel like telling you something will make it worse, and sometimes I think keeping it to myself will make it worse, and most of the time I feel like whichever one I ended up choosing was the wrong one, and I just don't want to freak you out at all, ever."

Ryan sighs. "Yeah, I'm a mess. And I freaked out over the baby because I really want it and sometimes I just... feel weird when I'm too happy? Or something? I don't know."

"I really want it too," John says. "And I want you. I would want you even if you didn't want the baby."

"Okay," Ryan says, smiling tentatively. "I believe you." He hesitates a little. "Can I... can I come back?"

"Please," John says, trying not to sound desperate. From the way Ryan laughs, he's not sure he succeeds, but he's not actually sure that he cares.

-0-

Ryan leaves with the promise to be back in a few days, once he's gathered up all the stuff he's accumulated at Dylan's place and his parents' house. Letting him walk out again is one of the hardest things John's ever done. He's congratulating himself on that for the third or fourth time when someone rings the doorbell later that afternoon. John opens the door and freezes. "Uh. Hi, Dylan."

"Hey," Dylan says brightly. He shifts something in his arms, which is when John realises that he's holding Aiden. He holds her out. "Here, take this."

"Brrrrp," Aiden adds, making grabby hands for him.

"Hey there, pretty lady," John says. His smile when he takes her is automatic. "I like your hair bows. Did Daddy get you dressed today?"

Dylan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know, Mitch is the fashionable one and I'm just the one who carried her for nine months."

John laughs and steps back, motioning for Dylan to come in. "Yeah, well, she's adorable. Good job."

Aiden shakes her head, making the bells on her hair bows jingle.

"Good job to you too," John tells her, poking one of them. "Did you tell Papa how we put one in Daddy's hair last time? That should make him feel better about the fashion thing."

"Nah, Mitch is just trying convince everyone else he's at the cutting edge."

John snorts. "Yeah, sure." He looks down at Aiden, who is glancing around like she's never been here before. She's wiggling like she wants down, but John hasn't actually baby-proofed. Yet.

"Hey, do you want to show Uncle John your new trick?" Dylan asks, crouching down and gesturing at John to do the same.

Aiden kicks her feet wildly as John goes to set her down. He sets her on her feet and she lurches towards Dylan, clutching at John's fingers.

"No, c'mon, sweetie," Dylan says. "JT, let go of her. Watch."

John is extremely dubious, but he lets go. Aiden freezes immediately, but she doesn't fall over.

Dylan smiles at her, holding out his hands. "Come here, Aiden. You can do it."

"Ababababa," Aiden says, and then she takes two wobbly, uncoordinated steps in Dylan's direction.

John holds his breath. He doesn't want to startle her and make her fall. She stops walking, and Dylan wiggles his fingers.

Aiden holds her arms out towards him, taking one shaky step after another until she's leaning forward, off balance, and pinwheeling into Dylan's waiting arms.

"You did it!" Dylan cries, scooping her up and bouncing her. He looks over at John, clearly delighted. "Isn't that awesome? She's walking!"

"That's amazing! Go Aiden!" John holds his hand up for a high five. She giggles and reaches out to grab a finger, and John shakes it up and down a few times. "Do you want some Cheerios?"

"Ooooooos," Aiden demands. John is only too happy to oblige.

She takes her sweet time choosing between the Frosted Cheerios and the plain ones. John's starting to suspect that yellow might be her favourite colour, because that's the only reason a Marner would choose the less sweet option, and she eventually goes for the plain ones.

"Going for the sunshine, huh?" John comments. "Good choice."

"Attagirl," Dylan says as she shoves her entire fist and a few Cheerios into her mouth all at once. He plops her down on the floor, bowl of Cheerios between her legs, and turns to face John. "So. How's it going?"

John grimaces. "I've been better. Things are looking up now, though."

"Yeah," Dylan says, sighing a little. "Look, about that."

"Since you brought the princess, I'm hoping you aren't here to yell at me."

Dylan frowns. "Why would I be here to yell at you? Did you do something I haven't heard about yet?"

"Ryan said you were pissed," John replies.

"I mean, I was," Dylan admits freely. "But then I talked to Mitch, and then Ryan again after he talked to you, and... I mean, that's actually kind of why I wanted to talk to you." He takes a deep breath and looks right at John. "I think something's really wrong with Ryan."

John's stomach turns. "What do you mean? Dr. Hewitt said he was fine."

"No, shit, sorry," Dylan says quickly. "He's physically fine, the baby's fine. Nothing's changed since you saw him earlier. I mean more like..." He sighs. "You know how everyone jokes, right, that the Stromes are all super emotional?"

John nods. "Someone may have mentioned it, once or twice."

"It's not actually a joke," Dylan says. He shrugs a little. "We're all pretty in touch with our emotions, whatever, but with Ryan it's more like..."

"Like what?" John prompts.

"Like he can't turn it off, ever," Dylan says slowly. "Like, he was freaking out after he told you about the baby, and he couldn't stop. I mean, he _could not_ stop."

John thinks back to what Ryan said. "He feels like he's letting everyone down. You, me, the team. And he feels bad for wanting to keep the baby."

Dylan nods. "And instead of someone being able to talk him out of it, like when I think shit like that, he gets... stuck in it, I guess."

"That doesn't sound good," John replies. He racks his brain, trying to remember if Ryan's been like this before. If John missed something.

"Yeah," Dylan agrees. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I don't know much about, like, Bell Let's Talk, but I feel like Ryan might need to."

"Oh." Shit, John should've thought of that. No matter what else is going on he's supposed to be Ryan's friend, and his captain.

"Stop that," Dylan says sternly, Dad Voice in full effect. "I just put it together too, okay? But I know part of the whole thing Dr. Weber and Dr. Hewitt said to me was that being pregnant can mess you up even more, so..."

"So one of us should talk to Ryan," John finishes, because now that he's thinking about it, it's obvious.

"Yeah," Dylan says. "And we have to do it in a way that makes him not feel like we're attacking him or ganging up on him." He smiles a little. "Any ideas on that front?"

Aiden blows a loud raspberry, and when they both turn to look at her she grins through a mouthful of half-chewed Cheerios.

"Do you think Dr. Hewitt would be able to help?" John asks slowly. "We have another appointment with her. I can talk to him about it before we go and then we can bring it up to her."

"I think so," Dylan says, bending down to scoop up a pile of mush Aiden's thrown on the floor. "She helped when Mitch was struggling." He throws out his handful of trash as he talks, and washes his hands in the kitchen sink.

"Bah," Aiden says, whacking John in the leg. When he looks down, she's holding a handful of drool-filled Cheerios out to him.

"You have to take them," Dylan says seriously. "She's sharing."

John wrinkles his nose, but Aiden just laughs at him and keeps offering up her soggy treasure. "Guess I should get used to it sooner rather than later," he comments.

"That's the spirit," Dylan says, laughing. "Do you think I should talk to him, too, or do you think it'll be too much?"

"I'll try first, and see how it goes." John shrugs. "No sense in him being mad at both of us and feeling like he has nowhere to stay."

"Okay," Dylan says. He pulls a baby wipe out of pretty much nowhere and reaches down to wipe at Aiden's hands. "Keep me in the loop, okay?" He picks Aiden up, brushes stray Cheerios off her, and hands her over. "You look like you need hugs."

Aiden must recognise the H word, because she grabs John's shirt in both hands and hauls herself in close. She smacks what's actually a pretty gross kiss to John's chin, and John holds her close for as long as she'll let him.

-0-

John doesn't know how to describe the relief he feels when Ryan hauls two duffel bags in from his car and declares that he's all moved back in. He's almost expecting Ryan to fight him when John takes the bags from him, but Ryan just ducks his head and smiles, and goes to sit on the sofa. "You know where I like to keep everything."

John smiles widely as he heads to the bedroom. It's true, and Ryan very rarely lets John take care of him. He'll take the opportunity, even if it's a pretty small thing, all things considered. John's never been so happy to fold someone else's underwear.

Ryan's settled into the sofa when John walks back out, and he's produced a bag of pretzels from somewhere. John smiles again and walks over to sit beside him. "There's plenty more in the pantry," he says. "I went shopping."

Ryan clutches the pretzels to his chest like a teddy bear, and coos happily.

"Are we on cheese lockdown?" John asks. He remembers Dylan's pregnancy all too well.

"I have no idea," Ryan tells him. "Dylan instituted a cheese ban just in case, so I haven't tested it yet."

John snorts. "We can test it if you want," he offers. "Anything else on the no-go list?"

"Pickles," Ryan says fiercely, making the same disgruntled face he makes every time John gets checked by Zdeno Chara and Ryan really wants to fight him but doesn't want to die.

"Not a problem here," John says, grinning. He's not a huge pickle fan anyway. "Anything good other than the pretzels? My mom, uh. She tells this story about how when she was pregnant with me, it was strawberry jam all the time. Just me, not my sisters."

Ryan cracks up laughing, so hard that he almost drops his precious pretzels. "I think I'm safe from building a mint chip nursery, since you're not a Marner."

John nods seriously. "Strawberry shortcake everything, got it."

"I vote we don't do the Mitch and Dylan thing," Ryan says, rolling his eyes a little. "I'm not betting you on boy or girl."

"We'll love them no matter what," John agrees.

"And they can have strawberry shortcake everything if they want it," Ryan adds.

John can't help smiling. They might be having a kid earlier than either of them expected, but they're going to make damn sure their kid has whatever they need."So the next appointment with Dr. Hewitt is in August," he says. "We can find out if it's a boy or a girl then." He hesitates a little. "If you want to, I mean."

Ryan bites his lip. "Do you mind if—I mean, we'll love them anyway, so it doesn't matter, right?"

John laughs a little. "I actually would rather be surprised," he admits. "If you want to know, we can absolutely find out, but..."

"But this is the good kind of surprise," Ryan continues for him. "Right?"

"A very good surprise," John confirms. "Although it does mean we have to pick out double names. Or something that's, like, super not gendered."

"Speaking of double names, do you have any thoughts about the last name situation?" Ryan asks.

"Strome-Tavares, Tavares-Strome," John says aloud. "I think we're less likely to get it all jammed together if Strome comes first."

Ryan leans into John's side. "I don't know, Tavarastrome sounds like an exotic pasta dish. That might work for the kid of two NHLers."

John laughs and puts his arm around Ryan's shoulders. "Something with a cream sauce," he agrees. "Lots of garlic."

Ryan pokes him in the side. "Chicken, to make the trainers happy."

"The spiral pasta, so the sauce gets in all the little nooks and crannies," John says almost dreamily.

"Hey, John?" Ryan replies, his voice sweet and soft. "I think I know what I want for dinner."

"Whatever you want," John promises, brushing his fingers through Ryan's hair. He definitely means it for more than just dinner.

Ryan tips his head forward, and makes a humming noise when John's hand slips down his neck. The muscles in his shoulder are tense, which is pretty par or the course for Ryan, but it makes John think back to the conversation he'd had with Dylan a few days ago. "Hey, Ry?"

"Mmm?" Ryan replies, swaying a little under John's hand.

"I've been thinking about some of the stuff we talked about," he says, still working at a knot in Ryan's shoulder. "About how you get worried about things a lot."

"I'm sorry," Ryan says, tensing up more. "I'll try to do better, for the baby."

"No, hey, no," John says, trying to keep his voice even, calm. "I just... I was worried about you, and then Dylan said that he was kind of worried, too." John hesitates, but Ryan's still tense. "And I know you're kind of just a worrier, and that's fine, but I was thinking that we could maybe ask Dr. Hewitt if it's a normal pregnancy thing to worry more?"

"Okay," Ryan chokes out. He sounds like he's seconds away from crying.

"Hey, sweetheart, it's okay," John says, pulling Ryan even closer. It's ridiculously hard to hug someone when you're both sitting down, and John sort of hates it. "I just want to make sure everything's okay. That you're healthy, and the worrying is normal."

Ryan starts shaking. "It's not like I'm trying to—I want to do better."

"I know," John says, feeling helpless. "And I love you, Ryan, I really, really do. Dr. Hewitt might say that it's totally normal, that pregnancy just turns the worrying up, but I want to ask her just in case it's some weird side effect that she can help with." He brushes a kiss against Ryan's hair. "I want you to be okay more than I want anything else."

Ryan takes a shuddering breath. "I want that too."

John doesn't know what else to do, so he just holds on tight. "Should we call and see if we can make another appointment for sooner?" he asks after a moment. "She did say to call the office if we had any questions."

"I think I need to," Ryan says, pressing close like he'll fall apart if there's a millimetre of space between them. "I think I need help."

"We'll call," John says. He clings back just as tightly. "We'll get you whatever help you need, Ryan."

When Ryan breaks down this time, at least he doesn't pull away. That's progress.

-0-

Dr. Hewitt is able to see Ryan the day after he calls; John isn't sure if she had a cancellation or if she's always this good about squeezing patients in, but either way, he's grateful.

Ryan's up early the day of the appointment, even though he still looks exhausted. He accepts John's offer of toast and coffee, and they eat quietly before getting ready to go.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" John asks while Ryan's fussing with his seatbelt, trying to get it to sit the way he wants. Or maybe just trying to do something with his hands, so he doesn't have to think.

"Please," Ryan says instantly, looking over at John. "I'm... at least at the start."

John reaches over and takes Ryan's hand. "Anything you want. And I'll leave whenever you say, alright?"

Ryan gives him a wobbly smile. "Thanks."

John squeezes his hand, and then lets go. They have important places to be.

It's hell driving into the city, but that's not news. Ryan spends most of the drive looking at things on his phone, which is also pretty normal. What's less normal is that he doesn't look up when John pulls in at the doctor's office and parks the car. "Ryan? You ready to go?"

"What if something's wrong?" Ryan says, voice shaky. "What if something's really, really wrong? I don't want to find that out."

"If something's wrong, it's better to find out so we can deal with it together," John counters.

"I just want to be okay," Ryan says. It sounds like he's barely holding it together, and John unbuckles his seat belt so he can lean over and pull Ryan in.

"I'm not going anywhere, no matter what," John promises. "And you've got your parents, and your brothers, and Aiden and Mitch. That's a lot of people who care about you."

Ryan nods jerkily. "Let's go in," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

They get out of the car, and Ryan walks slowly, like he's heading to the gallows. His footsteps are so heavy he trips over his own feet, and John has to steady him. John wants to tell him that they don't have to go in, that they can just get back in the car and go home, but the closer they get to the office the more sure he is that Ryan needs this.

Eventually they make it inside, and after Ryan checks in, they sit down together. Ryan rests his head on John's shoulder but he doesn't say anything. John just laces their fingers together and lets Ryan hold on as tightly as he wants.

When they're called in, Ryan digs his nails into the back of John's hand. John presses a kiss to Ryan's temple and stands, smiling as gently as he can as Ryan steels himself and climbs to his feet.

The nurse smiles at them as she leads them back towards the exam room. "Shoes off so we can weigh you, please," she says, stopping near the scale. She notes down Ryan's weight and then has him slip his shoes on before leading them to an exam room. She goes through the blood pressure and temperature routine, then tells them that Dr. Hewitt will be in shortly.

"Still time to escape," Ryan mutters, low enough that he probably doesn't think John will hear.

John just squeezes his hand, because he's a little afraid of what would come out of his mouth if he tried to say something right now.

"Ryan, welcome back," Dr. Hewitt says warmly as she comes in. "What can I do for you today?"

"I, uh," Ryan says. He throws John a panicked look.

"Ryan's been having a hard time," John says. "More than Dylan did, we think."

"I know you've had the morning sickness, and he was lucky enough to skip that," Dr. Hewitt says. "What else is going on?"

Ryan sinks down low in his chair. "I'm not—I know I'm happy but I can't feel it, sometimes."

"Okay," Dr. Hewitt says gently. "Is this new since the pregnancy, Ryan?"

Ryan casts a guilty glance at John, and John tries to radiate _I support you_ vibes. "I guess not," Ryan admits.

"Is it worse now?" Dr. Hewitt asks.

"Not worse," Ryan says after a moment. "But, like, I had hockey before. I could skate it off, or do another drill, or hit the weight room and bike until I couldn't think about it. Now I can't."

Dr. Hewitt frowns. "You can't train at the same pace you did before, no. But you don't have to stop completely."

"That's kind of the problem," Ryan replies. "I need the exercise so I can stay in shape, yeah, but I can't just... keep going."

John winces, thinking back on every time he praised Ryan for his work ethic.

"Sometimes I just need to not think," Ryan goes on. "Or I need to make the thoughts stop happening. I don't know how to do that without hockey."

John squeezes Ryan's hand again, and Ryan startles like he'd forgotten there's a third person in the room. "Do you want me to stay?" John asks.

Before Ryan can say anything, Dr. Hewitt speaks up. "If it's okay with you, Ryan, I'd like John to step out for a few minutes," she says. "You can tell him everything we talked about later, if you want, but I'd like to chat just the two of us."

Ryan nods and sighs before letting go of John's hand.

"There's a little sitting area at the end of the hall," Dr. Hewitt says, smiling at John. "You can make a coffee or get some water if you want."

"Coffee," Ryan echoes. He looks dreamy-eyed.

"He's allowed to have coffee in moderation," Dr. Hewitt says immediately, frowning a little at John.

John holds up his hands. "I know," he says. "I remember the Great Coffee Fight. Dylan still holds it over Mitch's head sometimes."

"Literally," Ryan adds, smiling for the first time all day.

John snorts. "Mitch made Dylan suffer for six months; returning the favour sometimes is only fair."

"You can bring Ryan back a cup," Dr. Hewitt suggests. "I'll have someone come get you when Ryan and I are done talking, okay?"

"Okay," John says easily. He gets up, and squeezes Ryan's shoulder before he leaves.

He takes a deep breath as he shuts the door behind himself. He'll go grab some coffee, fix Ryan's the way he likes it, and be ready when Dr. Hewitt calls for him.

-0-

Ryan looks tired but not completely worn out by the time they leave Dr. Hewitt's, so John makes the executive decision to stop for ice cream on the way home. Ryan gets chocolate instead of his usual, and John doesn't say a word. Judging by the blush on Ryan's face he's already well aware that he picked _John's_ favourite. John gets cookies and cream, just in case Ryan changes his mind halfway through.

The caffeine-and-sugar buzz gets them all the way home through Toronto traffic. Ryan heads directly for the fridge when they get home, and John smiles as he gets a glass of water and downs it. He's got a thing about the salt they put in ice cream, and John's glad to see that even though everything else is changing, at least that's the same.

He waits until Ryan sets the glass down before asking, "Do you want to talk about what Dr. Hewitt said?"

Ryan laughs, sounding a little tired. "She wants me to talk, actually," he says. "She recommended that I go see a therapist. She, um."

John waits him out. It hasn't been easy to get Ryan this far, and John isn't about to interrupt.

"She said it sounds like I might have anxiety problems," Ryan finally says. "And maybe that's what's making me freak out all the time, and it might be making me depressed."

Okay, that makes a lot of things click into place. And John feels like a moron. "Did she recommend anyone?" he asks, swallowing the guilt that's creeping up his throat. "If not, we can look around."

Ryan shrugs, and drops his gaze to the floor. "She gave me a list. And she said if I don't like any of them, the team might have some ideas."

"Okay," John says. He hesitates a little; this is new ground, and he wants to tread as carefully as he can so he doesn't end up hurting Ryan. "How can I help with that?"

"You could drop me off," Ryan mumbles. "I mean. You were right; I shouldn't drive when I'm all..." He waves his hand in the air.

John crosses the kitchen and reaches out, putting a hand on Ryan's shoulder. He wants to pull him into a hug, but he's not sure it's a great idea right now. "I can drive you," he promises. "Wherever you need."

Ryan tips forward and wraps his arms tight around John's waist.

John hugs him back tightly, swaying them side to side a little. "Do you want to take a look at the list she gave you, or do you want to call the team?" he asks.

Ryan grips the back of John's shirt like a lifeline. "I don't want to get used to seeing someone here and then have to start over."

"That makes sense," John agrees. "Do you want to head back to Brooklyn for the rest of the summer? We can go down there, find someone you like before the season starts and things get really busy..."

"I don't know," Ryan chokes out. "I don't—I can't—" His breathing gets faster and faster.

"Okay, sweetheart, okay," John says soothingly, running his hands up and down Ryan's back. "We don't have to make a choice right now. We can wait a little while, and we can talk about something else, okay?"

Ryan presses his face into John's shoulder and doesn't let go for a while. John closes his eyes and holds on. He wants to encourage Ryan to see someone as soon as possible; this definitely isn't good for him, and if he's been dealing with it for as long as John's starting to suspect, the sooner he finds someone to talk to, the better. On the other hand, though, he doesn't want to push Ryan into it, and what he said about not wanting to switch doctors makes a lot of sense.

"Mom's gonna be pissed if I leave before her birthday," Ryan says eventually.

"When's that?" John asks. He really doubts she’ll be upset; he remembers Ryan talking about how much his parents flipped out when Dylan and Mitch got married and announced they were having a kid, and he also knows how hard they've worked since to change the parts of themselves that made things shitty. He knows better than to point that out, though; Ryan already feels guilty enough about what Dylan went through. He'd probably have a meltdown if he thought his parents were giving him special treatment Dylan didn't get.

"August 10th," Ryan says. "I don't know what we're doing yet. Dad usually plans something and lets us all know, but I don't know if he has yet."

John takes a deep breath, and hopes he's not about to fuck up. "That's almost three weeks away. Are you sure you want to wait that long to talk to someone?"

"No," Ryan says, voice small. "Maybe... I don't know. Maybe we can ask the team to find someone, and then go down for a weekend? And then come back?"

"That sounds good. And hey, I still owe you a birthday present," John adds. "If you want, we can make it a date weekend."

"Sounds nice," Ryan mumbles. He pulls back a little and looks up at John. "We can... if you want to, I mean. But maybe we can move some of my stuff in Brooklyn to your place?"

John's proud of himself for not pulling a Mitch Marner and dropping into a celly. "I'd like that."

"Me too," Ryan says, laying his head on John's shoulder. His shoulders relax a little, like he was honestly worried that John wouldn't want to live with him in New York, too. It takes a second for the penny to drop—that's _exactly_ what he was worried about, and John resolves to look into a therapist in Brooklyn as soon as possible.

"You already did a great job on Aiden's nursery," John tells him. "I bet you can up your game with the nursery at my place, no problem."

Ryan laughs a little. "No green," he says. "And no bears."

"The rocking horse is legit, though." John's only half-teasing; Ryan definitely went overboard getting stuff for Aiden, but that was cute as hell.

"Oh, absolutely," Ryan agrees. "Our kid definitely gets one of those. I don't think Aiden's gonna agree to a hand-me-down, but I remember where I got it."

John snorts. "You're right, she's never letting that go. Her bears need it."

"As many as she can cram in at once," Ryan agrees. "And, like, four or five on the ground around it, just in case."

"It could be worse; she could've ended up with bear-phobia," John points out.

Ryan really starts laughing at that. "Can you even imagine?" he asks. "What would they even _do_ with all the bears?"

"I've never asked, and I never will." Some things, John decides, are better left to the imagination.

-0-

Dylan is bound and determined to get Ryan as prepared as possible for the rest of his pregnancy and actually becoming a dad, so he picks Ryan up pretty much every other day and takes him off to do god only knows what. John's settling in for an afternoon alone of trying to whittle down their list of cribs to a smaller number when his phone buzzes with a text. PK's sent a pic of his own smiling face, in front of his parents' house.

 _TORONTOOOOOOO,_ he sends a minute later. _I'm coming over. Am I bringing booze or party balloons?_

 _Balloons_ , John texts back immediately, because he knows what a PK commiseration party looks like.

 _Congrats my man,_ PK replies, with more smiley emojis than John actually wants to count. _Does Ryan want anything? I'm stopping at Shoppers._

John snorts. He doubts Shoppers has balloons, but no-one can stop PK when he's determined. _He's having brother time but you can never go wrong with pretzels._

 _You got it,_ he gets back pretty much immediately. _PK minus 45 minutes. GET READYYYYY_

 _There is no getting ready_ , John teases, but he goes to get changed.

PK turns up 47 minutes later, which John only knows because he set a timer. PK has chirped him enough over the years for being late, so John knows where to poke to get his revenge. He throws open the door and yells, "Two minutes for delay of party."

"Aw, c'mon, I hit traffic on the 401," PK says. "It's not a delay of party if it hits something before it goes over, man, that's in the rules."

John shakes his head. "Arguing with the ref will get you nowhere."

"That's bullshit, man," PK says cheerily, pushing his way in past John. "I brought water balloons and three different kinds of pretzels. Best I could do on short notice."

Water balloons in summer is a solid choice. John is curious about the pretzels, though. "What do you mean, three kinds of pretzels?"

"Big stick ones, little stick ones, and the curlicue ones," PK says, pulling the little bags out of his Shoppers bag. "I didn't know which ones he liked best, but I figured you would have said if it was one of the flavoured ones, so here we are."

"That's really sweet." John can't help smiling dopily.

PK spreads his arms and smiles sunnily. "That's me. And speaking of sweet, c'mere, bring it in, Pops." He wiggles his fingers, and John laughs as he goes in for the hug. PK wraps him in a bear hug, and if they were ten years younger he'd probably try to lift John off the ground.

"Thanks," John says softly when PK finally pulls back. He can feel himself still grinning like crazy.

PK smacks him in the arm. "So what happened? Last I heard you were all..." He pouts and makes sad puppy eyes.

"We talked," John says. "It took kind of a while, and there was at least one intervention, but... we talked about it."

"Aww, your favourite thing," PK teases.

John snorts. "I mean, between me and Ryan, I might actually have the advantage when it comes to talking." And he gets it, especially in the light of Ryan's newly-discovered anxiety, but it's still at least a little funny.

"If you love me," PK says seriously, placing a hand on John's shoulder, "you'll tell me all about your sleepover with Stammer."

"We had so many chicken wings," John says. "I didn't know they made that many, to be honest. Wings and beer."

"No way were they as good as the wings in Nashville," PK says proudly.

"You're claiming chicken wings now?" John asks, amused. "Maybe you'll actually have to show me around next time we play, just to prove your point."

PK makes finger guns. "As soon as we get the schedule, you're on."

"As long as it's not around mid-January, it's a date," John replies. "I'll be a little busy around the All-Star break this year."

PK's smile turns into a full-beam Subban Special. "Do you know if it's gonna be a boy or a girl yet? Or, like, are you guys gonna find out beforehand?"

"We're gonna wait," John says softly. "With all the crappy surprises we've had lately, we figured it'd be nice to have a _good_ surprise."

PK whistles. "And your mom's okay with it? Mine would bug me every day."

"My..." John says, trailing off. He blinks a few times, but no; he's not suddenly remembering telling his mom. "Uh."

PK stares at him for a moment, and then cracks up laughing. "Oh my god, you're so dead." He doubles over, hands on his knees.

"Tell my kid I loved them," John says weakly. "I cannot _believe_ I haven't told my family yet. How did I forget that?"

PK just laughs and laughs, batting John's hand away when he tries to facewash him. "I can't wait to tell Stammer," he gasps out, wiping tears from his face.

John sighs, and admits, "Your mom's probably going to to kill me too."

PK abruptly stops laughing. They both know John is far and away her favourite of all PK's exes, because he follows instructions in the kitchen. "She's gonna kill me, too," he says, horrified. "No way can I get away with vacation as an excuse for not spilling the beans."

"I call not it on calling your mom," John says immediately. "Or your sisters."

"Yeah, well, your sisters are worse," PK retorts.

"Not true," John says instantly. "My sisters never threatened to remove anyone's balls with a spoon, unlike _someone's_ sisters."

PK rolls his eyes. "Yours are sneakier about it."

"There's no way Barb said anything about a spoon, not even once," John says, narrowing his eyes. "Nastassia, on the other hand..."

"Call now," PK says, getting his phone out. "Argue later."

John sticks his hand out. "It's been nice knowing you," he says solemnly, and PK laughs as they shake.

It might be chickening out, but John stares at his phone after PK wanders down to the bedroom and decides to call his uncle instead of his parents.

"Johnny," Uncle John says warmly when he picks up. "How's the summer treating you?"

"It's been interesting," John hedges. "Good, mostly. Or, well, I think it's good."

"Oh boy," Uncle John says flatly. "Out with it, kid. What happened?"

John takes a deep breath. "You know I've been with Ryan for a while now," he hedges.

"I do," Uncle John replies. "He's a good boy. I like him." He pauses. "You finally marrying him, Johnny? You'll make your mama cry, she'll be so happy."

"I want to," John admits, "but I don't think he's ready yet. He, um. We're having a baby."

"A baby," Uncle John repeats. "That's... well, that's not what I was expecting." 

John's clenching his fist so hard he's probably leaving little imprints in his palm. He opens his mouth to say something, ask if he's mad, probably, but Uncle John adds, "Congratulations, kid. When are you due?"

"January," John blurts out, too relieved to say much more.

"Well, that's gonna play hell with your season," Uncle John says, laughing a little. "How's he handling it, huh? You having a baby, and him getting traded?"

John laughs a little, too. "No, he's having the baby. And they reversed the trade."

"Ah, got it," Uncle John says, and if John closes his eyes, he can see him nodding. "So he's back in New York with you. How's he handling _that_?"

"Honestly? Not that well," John admits. "It's hard, thinking the team doesn't want him anymore."

Uncle John sighs. "The business side of sports never thinks about the human side," he says. "That's tough. I'm sorry."

"I'm just trying to be there as much as he'll let me. But it hasn't been easy." John drops his shoulders, feeling some of the weight finally fall away. His friends are great, and Ryan's family are great, but they're not Uncle John.

"It's probably not gonna be easy from here on out," Uncle John says, and that's part of why John appreciates him so much: he's always been supportive, but he's never been one to sugarcoat anything. "It's worth it, though. Just be there for him as much as you can, and then a little more on top of that."

"Okay," John says softly. "Thanks, tio."

"You should know Breanne's going to lose her mind," Uncle John warns him.

John just laughs; her enthusiasm for baby cousins is family legend. "She'll be pissed she's not old enough to babysit."

"She will be before you want to leave yours on their own," Uncle John says. "Not while they're a baby, though."

John's knees go a little weak at the word _baby_. "I'm going to be a dad," he says out loud for the first time.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Uncle John says, clearly amused. "Maybe you'll be Pops. Unless you've already had that talk?"

"No," John admits. "We've talked about a few things, but not that." He wanted to make sure he was actually _having_ a kid before deciding what he wanted that kid to call him. "Ryan's brother has a kid, though, and he's Papa. I kind of just assumed."

"Ryan has an older brother?" Uncle John asks, sounding confused.

"No," John says, closing his eyes. "Two younger brothers. It was all over SportsNet last year. Dylan Strome and Mitch Marner?"

"Ah, that," Uncle John says. "It was all my students talked about for two weeks."

"Well, math is boring," John feels the need to point out.

Uncle John snorts. "I knew you bribed your way into that scholastic player award," he says. "My kids are allowed all the gossip they want after they finish their work for the day. You want to keep order? Just let them know they're allowed to have a little chaos after."

"And let the stragglers know they're missing _out_ on the gossip," John adds. He's learned a lot from Uncle John's leadership strategies, over the years.

"See, you do listen," Uncle John says approvingly. "Have you told your parents yet?" John says nothing, but Uncle John gets it anyway. "I didn't think so, since your father hasn't called me to complain about feeling old."

"I called you first," John says truthfully. "I'm not really sure how to tell them."

"Your mama will take it better if you tell her in person," Uncle John points out. "Maybe over lunch?"

"Oh, good idea," John says, relief flooding through him. "Would you, uh. Would you come?"

"Sure, kid," Uncle John replies. "I'll bring the cachaça."

"Just bring something that'll make Mom not kill me for not having married him already," John mutters.

Uncle John laughs. "She'll get over it when she realises she doesn't have to wait for one of your sisters to give her a grandbaby. And if your papa tries to give you hell for being too young, I'll remind him he said the same about me."

John blinks. "You were almost forty."

"Exactly," Uncle John says. "So what the hell does he know?"

It makes John laugh, at least. "I'll let you know the details when I get lunch set up," he promises. "Thanks, Uncle John."

"Take care of your boy," Uncle John says, "and let Katrina and I know if you need anything."

"I will," John promises. He's smiling when he hangs up, which is nice; it's even nicer when he catches the expression on PK's face when he walks back in a few minutes later.

"My sisters are making me sit through the sex talk again," PK says flatly.

"I have already heard Natasha's opinions on condom brands too many times," John says. "Take Stammer if you need a buddy this time."

"Mom says you're still her favourite," PK says reluctantly. John's pretty sure there were threats involved, to make sure PK actually told him.

"That's because I never hit anyone with a spatula she was using to cook at the time," John says primly. "At least I waited until she was done to get revenge on Malcolm."

PK shakes his head. "This is why I keep trying to tell everyone you're more trouble than they think."

"Good luck with that," John says, laughing. 

PK tackles him, which John can't say is much of a surprise. All in all, he's had far worse afternoons.

-0-

Ryan almost cries when he comes home and sees the stash of pretzels PK got him. "Tell him I said thanks," he says, tearing the curlicue ones open. "All I've had are the little ones. I forgot I had _options_."

John wraps his arms around him from behind, careful not to get between Ryan and his snacks. He waits until Ryan's finished chewing and swallowing before he says, "I told my uncle John about the baby."

Ryan goes a little tense. "How'd it go?"

"Really good, actually. He's going to help us tell my parents."

"Good," Ryan says, sagging back into John a little. "I mean, I had Dylan and Matty there when I broke the news to my mom. And Aiden, and Mitch." He laughs a little. "She, uh. Wasn't super surprised, not after all the puking I'd been doing."

John hugs him carefully. "I'm sorry I wasn't there." He hadn't wanted to intrude on the Strome family draft weekend holiday, but maybe if he'd been with Ryan when he found out...

"It's okay," Ryan says, patting his hand. "I was a mess the whole time. It wouldn't have been a ton of fun for you."

John kisses him on the cheek. "It's not always about fun."

Ryan hums a little and shrugs. "We're good now, though, right?"

"We're good," John assures him, and holds on.

"Good," Ryan repeats. "When are we talking to your parents? Because I thought that maybe we could go down to Brooklyn over the weekend, but if you want to talk to them then, we can go some other time."

"I thought we could go over for lunch whenever my mom and dad are free, but I haven't called them yet," John admits.

"Okay," Ryan says. "What if... we need to call the management people to see if they can help with finding a doctor. We can do that, then see what they come up with, and plan it from there?" He shoves another handful of pretzels in his mouth, probably so he doesn't have to use his words again any time soon.

John loves him so much, even when he's dropping crumbs everywhere. "That sounds good," he says. "How do you want to handle calling the team?" He hesitates; he's been doing a little reading on how to help someone with anxiety, but there are a lot of conflicting opinions out there. "I can stay while you call, or I can call, or we can put it on speakerphone and do it together?"

Ryan tenses up again, and leans more of his weight on John. "Speakerphone," he says eventually. "But, uh. Can you talk for me?"

"Absolutely," John promises. "We can talk about what you want me to say before we call. Make a list of everyone you want me to yell at, eh?" He's mostly joking, but there's part of him that also really, really isn't.

"Don't," Ryan chokes out. "It's my fault; don't yell at anyone."

John hugs him a little harder. "I won't if you don't want me to." It might kill him, but he'll do it. "But it's not your fault, Ry."

"It is, though. They traded me because my play sucked. And then I even messed up the trade for them."

"We don't know why they traded you," John says. "Nobody had a good season last year. And as for messing up the trade, well, that's as much on me as it is you."

Ryan starts sniffling. "Just don't yell at anyone. We need their help."

John closes his eyes. "Okay, sweetheart. I won't yell."

It takes a while for Ryan to calm down enough for them to make the call, and John spends half that time kicking himself. He hopes that at some point, he can talk to Ryan's doctor about how he can stop fucking things up, once Ryan's got someone to talk to that he trusts.

They sit together on the couch with Ryan's phone on speaker, and Ryan grips John's hand tight. The Isles are pretty helpful, actually, especially when they realise they fucked up and let Ryan's mental health issues slip through the cracks. Between arena issues and front office chaos, no-one paid attention like they should've. Ryan's kind of a mess now because of that, and John's willing to bet that the Isles will be as helpful as they possibly can so Ryan doesn't turn around and slap them with a lawsuit. Not that he would, but the Isles don't know that, and they don't have to.

There's an actual plan in place by the time they hang up, and Ryan just scoots down to put his head in John's lap. He makes a sleepy noise when John ruffles his hair.

"Nap," John tells him, rubbing gently at Ryan's temple. He'd said it helped with headaches a while back, and John has since learned that it's a good way to help him relax whether he admits to a headache or not. "I'll text my mom and see if we can get lunch set up, and I'll let you know when you wake up, okay?"

"Mhm," Ryan replies, half asleep already.

John waits a few minutes just to make sure Ryan's really asleep before he grabs his phone. He looks at plane tickets to New York first; once he knows when they're leaving, he'll work out lunch with his parents. It might be a good idea to have a mini exit strategy in place for Ryan, just in case something goes wrong with the whole thing. 

The price of Saturday night tickets would probably make his parents wince. It gives them a good excuse to get out of lunch early, though, and John can definitely afford it. Ryan twitches in his sleep while John's texting his mom, so he hits send quickly and goes back to rubbing Ryan's temple. He hums contentedly in his sleep, and John smiles down at him as his phone buzzes.

Mom confirms that _of course_ she wants to see them for lunch on Saturday, don't be silly. John tells her that he invited Uncle John, too, and she waits a minute before telling him that it's fine, she doesn't mind at all, it'll be good to see him. She definitely knows something's up, then, but she'll wait. John figures it's a good thing he's not trying to set this up further in advance, or she'd probably explode from curiosity.

Three days is more than enough time for her to plot his demise.

-0-

Ryan has John's hand in a death grip as they walk up to his parents' front door on Saturday. John can relate; their bags are in the car, so they can escape any time, but they still have to get through the next few hours. John rings the bell, feeling a little awkward about it. He'd normally just walk right in, but he's very aware that today is not a normal day.

Uncle John answers the door and waves them inside. "Hey," he says, smiling. "Heads up, boys: Barbara definitely knows something's going on. I don't think she knows what, but you're not gonna get to beat around the bush for long."

Ryan grimaces, trying his best to hide, but Uncle John says, "Come here, kid," and pulls him into a hug.

Ryan doesn't fight it at all. He's usually pretty open to hugs, as long as he's warned beforehand, and Uncle John gives pretty good ones. Uncle John gives John a _look_ over Ryan's shoulder, and yeah, John can take a hint. He leaves the two of them in the hall, and heads to the kitchen.

"Johnny," Mom says, smiling at him. "Come here. I had your dad set the table, but you can help me drain the pasta."

John slots in comfortably next to her, feeling like he's fourteen again. He takes the flowery potholders that she hands over and makes quick work of pouring the pasta pot into the strainer.

"Where's Pops?" John asks while they work.

"He was on the phone with Laura, but they were wrapping it up when I came in here to check on the food," Mom says. She leans away from him and turns her head. "Joe! Kitchen!"

John bites his lip and shakes his head, trying not to laugh. The first time he'd brought Ryan home it'd almost been a disaster—Ryan had been totally unprepared for the loud clash of Polish and Portuguese family dynamics. He'd just assumed the rest of John's family was, well, like John.

"I'm coming!" Dad yells back. It's not hard to hear him as he walks; he's never exactly been light on his feet. He used to laugh that John definitely hadn't gotten his skating ability from his side of the family. John used to protest and point out that Uncle John was pretty good at hockey before he decided to focus on lacrosse. Uncle John would always facewash him and claim to be a changeling.

"Hey, Johnny," Dad says as he walks in. "How's life?"

John ducks his head, trying to hide the fact that his face just turned bright red. "Um. Busy."

"Mhmmmmm," Mom says. She's very pointedly stirring the pasta sauce. "Anything you want to tell us?"

"Yes, mama," John says quietly.

She taps the spoon on the side of the pot, then balances it on the little plate she keeps between the burners. John's a little afraid to look at her face as she turns around. "You can tell us anything," she says firmly.

Now that he's here, John can understand a small part of why Ryan's been so stressed.

"Anything," Dad repeats, and when John looks up, Dad's got his arm around Mom's shoulders, and they're both giving him the same concerned expression.

John takes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the first ultrasound. He takes a deep breath and then hands it to Mom.

Waiting for her to react feels like it takes forever. He forces himself to swallow, even though it feels like his throat is crackling. "What do you think, Babcia?"

Mom looks up, and her eyes are shining.

"I don't want to speak for your mom, but Vovo's pretty thrilled," Dad says, and he sounds kind of choked up.

John laughs a little in relief. "Yeah?"

Mom just steps forward and hugs him tight. He leans down a little to hug her back, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

"Always in a hurry to be first," Dad teases.

"Exceptional," Mom adds, pulling back so she can beam up at him. "Oh, Johnny."

"Ryan's due in January," John says. "Right around the All Star break."

"All-Star baby," Dad says. "You'd better tell your team to send someone else this year."

John laughs. "I'm pretty sure they got the memo," he says. "But if not, I'll definitely tell them."

"Is the coast clear?" Uncle John asks loudly as he joins them in the kitchen. 

Ryan's nowhere to be seen, and John hopes he isn't being sick again.

"We're good," Mom calls. "Where's Ryan? I need to hug him right now."

"Just washing up," Uncle John replies.

So yeah, probably puking.

John untangles himself from his mom's hug. "I'll go check on him."

"I'll get a glass of water for him," Mom says. "Take your time."

John hesitates for a minute, not sure if he should say anything, but it's better to get it over with now than wait until Ryan's standing there being smothered. "He's having a hard time, so if he's not feeling great he might want to take a nap or something." Or just get some space to regroup and calm down.

Dad nods. "I'll put the spare room together," he says. "Clean sheets and everything."

He hugs John quickly, and then drags Uncle John with him to help.

"Go, take care of him," Mom says, swatting at John and handing him the water. "Tell him not to worry. We love him, and we're happy for you."

John takes the glass of water and does as he's told. Nobody argues with Mama.

Ryan's sitting on the floor when John pokes his head into the bathroom, having a glaring contest with the toilet.

"Hey," John says softly. "I brought you a drink."

"I didn't get sick," Ryan says. "I feel like there might be a 'yet' there, though."

John hands him the glass of water and sits down next to him. "If it helps, I already told my parents and it's fine. They're happy."

"Oh, good," Ryan says. He gives John a smile, which lasts for about two seconds before he throws himself at the toilet.

The glass of water is abandoned, and it tips over onto the floor, so John busies himself mopping up while Ryan's being sick.

"My dad's making up the bed," John says, filling the glass from the tap and handing it to Ryan. "You can lay down if you want."

Ryan rests his head on his arm, clearly not ready to move yet. "Thank god. I think I might die if I have to look at food right now."

"I kind of figured," John admits. "Mom won't mind at all. I'll send her the ultrasound photos and she'll be thrilled, probably."

"It really went okay?" Ryan asks in a small voice. "I mean, I didn't hear any yelling, and your uncle promised to get me out of there if I wanted but..."

John's going to get Uncle John something really, really nice. Maybe a whole bunch of school supplies. "It went great," he confirms. "Mom cried a little, and Dad said he was thrilled."

Ryan sits up and holds his hand out for the glass of water. "I'm feeling daring."

"They always have ginger ale, if you're really going for it," John says. "Mom used to stir the bubbles out and give it to me flat when I was a kid. The ginger's supposed to help with the stomach thing."

"I'm just gonna sit here for a minute and see how it goes," Ryan replies. "And then maybe you can help me up?"

"Solid strategy," John says, settling beside Ryan. Ryan leans on him, and John doesn't really even mind the smell of puke in the air as long as they're together.

-0-

The flight to New York goes pretty smoothly; they quietly tell the gate attendant that Ryan's been having morning sickness, and he moves them nearer to the bathroom, but not right next to it, just in case it smells. It's not all that late by the time they land, but Ryan's exhausted. Which isn't all that surprising, really, after the emotional rollercoaster of lunch. John had managed to explain to his parents that no, they're not getting married before the baby comes, and no, they're not getting married right after, before Ryan had come down from the bedroom. They're a little less thrilled, but they're still pretty happy.

Ryan's thrilled, too, when John takes both of their bags and leads him over to the cab station.

"I can't even imagine being on the subway," he admits as John puts their bags in the trunk. "All those smells."

John smiles softly. "I would never do that to you."

"I know," Ryan says, smiling back. He glances around quickly before leaning in to peck John on the cheek. "Thanks anyway."

John gives him a quick, one-armed hug. "Let's get you home before you turn into Sleeping Beauty."

They get in the cab and Ryan gives his address; John figures he can pack up some of Ryan's stuff while he naps, and then they can drive it back to John's place— _their_ place—when he gets up. Ryan rests his head on John's shoulder and is asleep almost instantly. The cabbie just gives John an amused smile and lowers the radio.

"Ugh, fuck off, Dylan," Ryan says, when John has to shake him awake.

"Careful, Aiden'll hear," John says, holding back a laugh. "We're home."

Ryan scrunches up his face and just barely opens his eyes enough to get from the cab to the curb safely. Then he leans against the building, closing his eyes again while he waits for John.

John pays the driver as quickly as he can and grabs their bags, hurrying to Ryan's side. "Please don't fall over," he says.

"M'fine," Ryan lies. He manages to get his key card out, though, so thankfully John doesn't have to stick his hand in Ryan's pants in public.

John follows him as he stumbles to the elevator, waving at the doorman as they pass. "Bad flight," he explains, and the guy nods.

Ryan becomes one with the wall of the elevator on their way up. When the doors slide open at Ryan's floor, John tosses their bags out, then takes Ryan by the hand. "Can you walk?" he asks gently.

"Mhm," Ryan replies, shuffling forward with his eyes closed.

John kicks their bags to one side so Ryan won't trip over them and leads the way. It's a good thing they're in private now; John has to dig the door key out of Ryan's pants after all, but once he does, it only takes a minute to guide him through the apartment and to the bedroom. Ryan hums contentedly as he lies down. John just shakes his head, smiling to himself as he takes off Ryan's shoes. He mumbles something indistinct as John pulls a blanket over him, but he's clearly out like a light, so John heads back to the hallway for their things.

It's nice to be somewhere he doesn't have to worry about anyone messing with his gear bag as a prank. He loves the guys, and he trusts them with his life, but definitely not with his stuff. John doesn't want to go back to the days of his hair being wild and fluffy.

Ryan's still fast asleep when John peeks in, not that he expected any differently, so John goes back to the living room and surveys the scene. Most of the stuff is staying for Dylan and Aiden, but the things that are definitely Ryan's are going, so John can at least get a head start on the packing.

The first, most important thing is checking the shelf next to the TV for Ryan's copy of _Bring It On_. It's his insurance against wifi outage. He bites his lip hard to keep himself from laughing when he finds it right next to what must be Dylan's copy. Either that, or Ryan's got a cheerleader thing that John absolutely needs to know more about.

John works quietly in the living room until Ryan wakes up and wanders in, sleep-rumpled and adorable.

"I'm starving," Ryan complains.

John snorts. "I'm not surprised. You barely ate at lunch, and you hate airport food."

Predictably, Ryan makes a face. "Ew, no. What should I order?"

"Everything you want," John says. "And I can get you some pretzels from the bodega while we're waiting."

"I love you," Ryan says happily. It's at least 35% the pretzels right now, but John will take it.

Ryan flops on the sofa and wriggles his toes as he scrolls through menus on his phone. "Do you think spicy would be bad?" he asks after a moment. "Tikka masala sounds really good right now."

John shrugs. "You can place two orders, at different spice levels."

"I hope the baby gets your problem-solving skills," Ryan says, poking busily at his phone. "What do you want?"

"Butter chicken," John says immediately, because it's the off season and he can still get away with it for now.

"Oh, yum," Ryan says. "Solid choice." He taps at his phone a little more, then puts it on the sofa beside him. "They say half an hour, so probably 45 minutes."

"Anything else you want while I'm out?" John asks, grabbing the keys and access card off the counter.

"Green Powerade," Ryan says immediately. "The melon one."

"Yes, sir." John salutes him, and he's about to head out the door when Ryan says, "Make sure you pet the bodega cat for me. Dylan's paranoid about germs so I'm not allowed when he's here."

"Of course I'll pet the bodega cat," John says. "Who goes to a bodega and doesn't pet the cat? Other than Dylan."

Ryan shakes his head. "Sad people."

"I'll take a selfie of me petting the cat," John promises.

"And tell him I love him!" Ryan yells as John closes the door.

-0-

John is glad that he's in the habit of putting his phone on do not disturb mode overnight, because when he wakes up on Sunday morning, there are nearly a hundred texts waiting for him. He told his mom she could tell the rest of the family if she wanted, because she probably would've done it anyway but at least this way Ryan got to have the illusion of control.

Pretty much every single relative John's ever spoken to has texted him. His sisters are pissed he didn't answer his phone, a dozen of his aunts want to give him things for the baby, and every single one of his cousins is laughing at him except for Lily's mom—she's just relieved not to be the only one with a kid. John texts his sisters, promising he'll call later, and lets the rest of them sit for now. They can wait until after coffee.

"Foooood," Ryan whines, stumbling into the kitchen.

"We don't have much," John says, clutching his coffee. "If you can wait, like, ten minutes, I'll run to Dunkin."

Ryan opens the fridge and stares into it, forlorn. John downs his coffee as quickly as he can manage, then glances down. He's in athletic shorts and an Isles tee that he's pretty sure is actually Dylan's, but it's good enough. "Munchkins?" he asks.

"I'll come with you," Ryan replies. "That way I can get food into my mouth faster."

"Okay," John replies. "You, uh. Need clothes, though." Ryan's only wearing boxers, and while John appreciates the view, he doesn't want to share it with the people at Dunkin. "I'll put a grocery order in while you change and have it delivered tonight."

Ryan hustles out of the room, and he comes back in thirty seconds wearing sweatpants and flip flops.

"Shirt," John says patiently.

Ryan laughs at himself as he doubles back. It gives John a minute to open his phone and bring up his grocery app; he's extra glad right now that he's got saved shopping lists. By the time Ryan reappears, John's got it all in his cart, and he even remembers to add pretzels in before placing the order. Coffee is a miracle.

"Come on, let's go," Ryan insists. He takes John's hand and drags him to the door.

John laughs and pockets his phone as he stumbles out the door after Ryan. He hears his text alert go off, but it's either the grocery confirmation or another family member, and either way he's going to wait to check.

No-one at Dunkin even blinks when Ryan orders four sandwiches, and John leaves a generous tip. He also gets a little cup of Munchkins, because they honestly don't have anything at Ryan's apartment if he gets hungry again. And, well, they're Munchkins; if Ryan doesn't eat them, John will make sure they don't go to waste. It's important to fuel up before picking up the moving van.

It's not like Ryan has a ton of stuff, so John gets the smallest thing on offer at the Uhaul place; it's an oversized van, but it'll be fine for getting Ryan's things across town, and they don't have to deal with cab drivers being mad that they're bringing boxes in the back.

Ryan still frowns when he looks at the pile of stuff John packed up last night. "Where are you even going to fit all this?"

"In with my stuff," John says, narrowing his eyes at the pile. He should have gotten a hand truck, probably. He takes a moment to judge how many boxes he can reasonably carry at once, picks up two, and turns to face Ryan's gobsmacked expression. "What?"

"Just," Ryan says, shaking himself a little. "We're really doing this. Moving in together, the whole thing." There's a smile making its way across his face.

John puts the boxes back down again and holds his arms out for a hug. Ryan steps into it easily, burying his face in John's neck and letting out a quiet little sigh.

"It's going to be good, right?" Ryan says.

"It's going to be great," John promises. "So great." He's 100% confident, since they've lived together before, but he gets that doing it officially as a couple is new. He holds Ryan tight.

"I'm happy," Ryan mumbles into John's shoulder. He sniffles a little, and John rubs his back.

"I'm happy too," John says.

"Good," Ryan says. He takes a deep breath, then smiles up at John, a little wobbly. "Let's move all this stuff."

"You get that stuff," John instructs, pointing to the garbage bags they'd filled with Ryan's clothes. "You can drag them if you want."

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he does as John asks. It's the matter of about ten minutes for them to get the truck loaded, and then Ryan takes one last walk through the apartment, looking for anything they might have missed.

"I guess we can just have Dylan bring it over if he finds anything," Ryan says as he meets John in the kitchen. "Let's go home?"

"Let's go home," John echoes, smiling at Ryan. "We can unpack this afternoon."

"Actually," Ryan says, fidgeting a little. "Can we do something? A date, maybe?"

John feels like his smile is going to crack his face, maybe. "Sure," he says. "That sounds great. Do you have something in mind?"

Ryan laughs. "I do, actually. It's, um." He hesitates for a second. "It's a place Dylan told me about. It's a little silly."

"Do you want to tell me or surprise me?" John asks, watching Ryan carefully. He's not sure which would be better for Ryan's peace of mind. He's hoping that offering the choice isn't the wrong thing to do.

"Both?" Ryan answers, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Let's drive my stuff over. I'll think about it on the way, and then I'll let you know?"

"That sounds perfect," John says. He can't help himself; he has to lean in and steal a kiss before stepping back and holding out a hand. "Let's go home."

-0-

They get Ryan's things unloaded pretty quickly. John offers to return the truck and then come back for Ryan, but Ryan looks something up on his phone and then shakes his head. "I'll go with you and we can grab a cab from there," he says. "It's closer."

"Okay," John replies, but he doesn't push for more. Yet.

Returning the truck takes almost no time at all, and then they're climbing into a cab. Ryan gives the driver an address, then shoots John a smile.

John laces their fingers together and squeezes Ryan's hand.

"It's a museum," Ryan says, sounding a little nervous. "We don't have to stay if you don't want? But Dylan said it was pretty great, so."

"Museums are cool," John replies.

Ryan rolls his eyes. "They are not."

"Dates are cool, and we're going on a date, so that makes museums cool," John argues, grinning a little. "At least this one museum."

"Dork," Ryan replies, but he holds John's hand tight.

They're in the cab for about ten minutes before they pull to a stop outside a colourful building.

"The Children's Museum," John reads. "Ryan, this is great."

Ryan flushes a little. "It's kinda silly, I know."

John bumps their shoulders together. "It's perfect." He laughs a little. "I _was_ wondering what kind of museum Dylan would recommend, to be honest with you."

"I just. Aiden really likes it? And I figured we should know where it is, for next year." Ryan bounces his knee, and his grip on John's hand is vice-like.

"Let's go in," John says. "I can't wait to check it out."

They drift around the museum for a little while, pointing out parts of the exhibits to each other. After a few rooms, though, all the coffee John downed this morning catches up with him. "Hey, don't wander too far," he says, looking around. "I'm gonna use the bathroom."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Sure, Dad. I'll be in the toddler room; it's Aiden's favourite."

It's probably impossible for John to respond to that with anything other than a smile and a peck to Ryan's cheek, so he doesn't even try. "Be right back."

John speedwalks to the bathroom, somehow absolutely sure he's missing out on something.

He goes as quickly as he can, washing his hands but opting to just use the hem of his shirt to dry them when he sees that the paper towels are all out and his only option is the air dryer. His shirt will dry. He heads back down the hall towards the toddler room, and he's in such a hurry he overshoots the door. He laughs at himself a little as he doubles back, and then stops dead.

Ryan's watching a group of kids Aiden's age walk around, babbling incomprehensibly at each other. He's smiling at them softly, and he's got one hand pressed to the slight, round bump of his belly that John hasn't noticed before.

"Oh my god," John mutters to himself. He can't help just standing there and staring for a while. He debates with himself for a few seconds, but ultimately slips his phone out of his pocket and takes a photo. Then he heads over and wraps his arms around Ryan, placing his hand over the bump too. "Hi, you two."

Ryan leans back into him, and John could probably stay in the museum forever, if it keeps Ryan this relaxed and happy. "Hi."

"This is really nice," John says softly. "The baby's going to love it."

"I think so too," Ryan says. "I'm excited. Look at how happy all these kids are."

John's heart thumps hard in his chest. "Next year's going to be great."

"I hope so," Ryan says softly. 

"I know so," John tells him. "I won't let you down."

"And I'll do my best," Ryan replies. "Just... that might not look super impressive sometimes."

"You look great right now."

"You're a total sap," Ryan says, but he doesn't try to move away. 

John can't help grinning. "This total sap's going to buy you lunch if you play your cards right."

"A sandwich from the museum cafe?" Ryan replies, putting a hand to his forehead and fake-swooning a little against John's shoulder. "My hero."

They stand there until Ryan decides it's his turn for a bathroom break. John heads to the cafe to snag them a table, because without Ryan he feels weird hanging out in a room full of kids. It's something he should probably work on, given that he's gonna have one kind of soon. Maybe he can borrow Aiden and come back during the season.

He orders coffee and a cookie while he's waiting for Ryan, because he's starting to figure out why Mitch had snacks tucked into every pocket last summer. He's gonna have to figure out how to carry pretzels at all times. Maybe this is why his sisters love their handbags so much.

"Hey," Ryan says, sitting beside John and looking at the cookie. "Can I—"

"That's for you." John pushes the plate over.

"Thanks," Ryan says, just barely before shoving it into his mouth. His cheeks are still puffed up like a chipmunk when the server brings their coffees over.

Either she doesn't notice or she's incredibly professional, because she just puts their coffees down with a smile. John's betting on the latter; Ryan's probably not the first pregnant person she's encountered, and also, there's no way a guy with cookie in his mouth is the strangest thing she's seen while working at the children's museum.

Ryan tries to smile at her, since he can't talk. It's disgusting, and John loves him so much.

"Do you need a minute to look at the menu?" she asks, looking at Ryan, then to John. "I can come back if you do."

Ryan nods his head and reaches for the menu, almost knocking over his coffee in the process.

The server reaches out to steady it with a smile. "I'll be back in a few," she promises, sliding the mug back a few inches towards John.

John waits patiently for Ryan to chew and swallow. Ryan kicks his foot under the table.

"I already know what I want," John says, amused. "I've heard about the grilled cheese. I have to know if it's as good as Dylan thinks, or if it was just part of his post-pregnancy cheese binge."

"You don't have to look so smug about it," Ryan points out, but he's smiling.

"They have pastrami on rye," John says. "And spicy mustard. It's probably not as good as Harold's, but you love pastrami."

"Nothing is as good as Harold's," Ryan says immediately.

"But you can probably finish a sandwich here," John says. "So even if it's not quite as good as Harold's, you won't be eating leftovers for a week."

"As if eating Harold's for a week is a problem."

"We can go," John offers. "Like, not right now, obviously. But before we go back to Toronto."

"It's a date," Ryan says, smiling at his as the server walks back over.

-0-

The waiting room of the therapist the Isles managed to get Ryan in with is nice, John thinks as he sits and waits. It has windows to the outside world, which is rare in New York, but the glass is tinted so that the light coming through feels soft like a fleecy blanket. There's a Keurig and a water cooler and a basket of packaged snacks on a little table, and a magazine rack on the wall.

John has no idea how long he'll be here, and he's already full of nervous energy, so he opts for the water. He's not sure if he should take a snack or not. He's more nervous than hungry, so he leaves the food for now. Ryan's probably going to need it when the appointment's over; he was too wound up this morning to keep much down. John does have a bag of pretzels with him, but it's nice to have options.

He sits back and uses the time to start replying to his family. It's a good thing it's a Monday; most of them are at work, so he can reply without having to start a full conversation. He'd briefly called his sisters last night while Ryan was napping. They're still mad at him, but John promised to show them the next ultrasound. He's pretty sure he'll be forgiven eventually.

John gets through the hour okay, probably because hockey's trained him to hurry up and wait. He gets uncomfortably close to picking up a _Better Homes and Gardens_ from the magazine table, but he manages to resist.

Ryan shuffles out after a few more minutes, looking like hell. John stands up, hands loose at his sides, but he waits for Ryan to make the first move. Ryan just breathes for a few seconds, and then he grimaces. It's probably supposed to be a smile, but it misses the mark pretty hard. "Car?"

John frowns. They don't have a car in New York, and they already returned the moving van. "I have to call the cab," he says. "Do you want to sit down for a minute? Eat a snack?"

Ryan stumbles over to the seats. "Water?"

John tries not to hover as Ryan manages to get into a seat. He immediately leans forward and puts his head in his hands, and John hurries to get him some water. Ryan's hands are shaking when he tries to take the cup so John steadies it for him.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" John murmurs.

Ryan shakes his head. "Not here."

"Okay," John says. "I have pretzels?"

Ryan makes grabby hands but he doesn't look up. John hopes he made the right choice with the curlicue ones as he opens the bag and holds it out for Ryan.

"Thanks," Ryan says, taking the bag. He peers inside, and his shoulders start shaking. "These are perfect."

"Ry," John says helplessly as Ryan starts sobbing. "Can I... is it okay if I hug you?"

Ryan nods, and when John puts an arm around him he tips over. He's a dead weight against John's chest. John pulls him in as well as he can and rocks him a little. He wishes that they were home; he wishes that they were at least somewhere a little more private than the waiting room of a therapist's office.

"Why don't you take these," a woman says, and when John looks up the receptionist is holding out a box of tissues.

"Thanks," he says, nodding to the chair beside him. He doesn't want to let go of Ryan. "Could you..."

She sets the box down, smiles a little at John, and then leaves them alone.

"Sorry," Ryan gasps out. He's still crying. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to stop."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," John tells him, putting everything he has into willing Ryan to believe him. "Just match my breathing, okay?"

"Kay," Ryan says. John takes slow, even breaths; he has no idea if Ryan's actually following him or not for a little while, but he does stop crying, and then it's easy to feel him breathing in time.

"I'm staying right here with you until you're ready to go home," John promises.

"Home," Ryan repeats. "I want to be at home."

John frees up a hand and pulls out his phone. It takes about half a minute to wrangle Curb open, but once he does, he nudges Ryan. "You want to blow your nose or anything? The taxi will be here in four minutes."

"Take the box with you," the receptionist calls out.

"Thanks," John calls back. It's really nice, but he's realising that it's probably not the first time the receptionist has seen someone react like Ryan is. That said, at least if they get stuck in New York traffic, John won't have to sacrifice his T-shirt.

The cab ride is more or less not a disaster; Ryan doesn't break down again even though he keeps a death grip on John's hand, and the cabbie lets them be, so John will put it in the win column. They make it all the way home without hitting too much traffic, which is a minor miracle, but John will take it.

He tips the driver generously for managing not to make things worse, and goes around the cab to open the door for Ryan. Ryan blinks up at him. "We're home," he states, looking over John's shoulder. It's not a question, and John thinks that's another thing he should be grateful for.

John holds out a hand so Ryan can steady himself if he wants. Ryan grabs it tightly and stands. He doesn't waver at all, but John can see the exhaustion in his face. They make it through the front door and into the elevator without incident, and Ryan only stumbles a little.

"Do you want to take a nap now?" John asks quietly as the elevator starts going up. "I'll lay down with you, if you want."

"Sounds nice," Ryan mumbles. He winces at the bright lights in the elevator, and hides his face against John's shoulder. John can do this for him, be a shield until Ryan's ready to step forward.

"Okay," John says, ducking his head down to block out more of the light. "Whatever you want."

"Home. Sleep. A new brain."

The elevator dings softly. "Home's here," John says as the doors slide open. "Sleep is pretty close. And we can work on the brain you have, I think. Replacement is a drastic measure."

"We can try," Ryan agrees. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head. "But first we should sleep."

John laughs a little and leads him out of the elevator.

-0-

Ryan sleeps like he just played three games in four nights, and wakes up when it's close to dinnertime.

John gets the story out of him in pieces while they're waiting for takeout. Dr. Allen had officially diagnosed him with anxiety, and while it's not actually a surprise, John can tell that Ryan's kind of shaken by it anyway. He talks about things he's never admitted before—about the pressure of being the oldest, and helping take care of his brothers, and having to get everything right because they were watching. Because they were following in his footsteps, all the way into the Big Show. He cries over how much he loves them, and how he feels like he can never do enough.

"I fucked up," he chokes out. "With Dylan, when he first told me about Aiden. I panicked really, really hard, John, and I fucked it all up."

If John's learned one thing so far, it's not to tell Ryan flat-out that he's wrong. It'll only make him bottle up. "Dylan loves you. You can talk to him about anything, and he'll let you fix it."

"I did," Ryan says. "Last year, pretty soon after. I said I was sorry and we're okay, but I just keep thinking about how much I fucked up."

"Is it like after the playoffs?" John asks. Ryan hadn't been able to sit still for weeks.

Ryan shrugs a little. "It's like—sometimes my brain is just a greatest hits playlist for everything I've ever done wrong."

"So," John replies, "we have to figure out how shuffle it. Break up the play."

Ryan stares at him for a second, and then breaks into a raspy-sounding giggle. "We talked about that, sort of," he says. "Dr. Allen said I should try to think about something that'll distract me from it, and now..."

"Now what? What's so funny?" John needs to know, so he can do it again. He doesn't care how many times he gets chirped. Ryan not looking miserable is worth it.

"Bad thoughts," Ryan says, holding one hand up. He laughs again and holds up the other. "A really pissed-off Boych, having to chase someone down after a bad turnover so he can cut the play off."

John snorts. "Bad thoughts," he echoes, holding up his hand like Ryan. "Boych at Central Park trying to outrun the twins."

Ryan cracks up. "Boych not-running down the hall so he doesn't get tossed into a media scrum," he wheezes.

"Boych trying to say no to double-puppy eyes when the girls want him to use a new Snapchat filter." John's seen some things in the Isles' secret group.

"Or Sheena," Ryan adds.

John grins."She's probably working on their family Halloween costume theme already."

"Probably," Ryan agrees. "We're not doing a dumb pregnancy costume, I'm telling you that right now."

"Okay," John agrees readily, because he's pretty sure Dylan will make Ryan change his mind. There's no need to gang up on him.

"I mean it," Ryan insists. "I'm gonna be Superman and you can't stop me."

John's mouth goes dry, and the intercom buzzes before he can get his brain online.

"Food," John says, firmly telling himself to stop thinking about Ryan in Superman's super-fitted costume. "Be right back."

Ryan pushes himself up from the couch. "I'll get plates."

John does not lose thirty seconds to staring at Ryan's ass. Nobody can prove it.

They eat at the dining room table, mostly because it's easier for Ryan to lean across the table and snag a box there than it is if he's sitting on the sofa. Ryan shares the egg rolls, so it must be love.

John has more questions, but he makes the executive decision to wait until after they finish eating to ask them. It's weirdly nice just being in the kitchen together, clearing plates and putting away leftovers. It feels domestic, kind of like they're married or something, even if John's not going to bring that up again. Not now, anyway.

"So," John says eventually, "is there anything else you think I should know?"

Ryan shrugs a little. "We talked about me maybe going on medication to help with the anxiety, but I have to do some reading. I have another appointment at the end of next week."

John moves next to him and puts his hand on the kitchen counter with his pinkie touching Ryan's.

"The talking will probably help," Ryan adds. "But I might... I might be a mess after it again. For a while, maybe."

"Okay," John says, steady and quiet. He waits a moment, but Ryan doesn't add anything else. "Is there anything I can do to help? Or not do, I guess."

"Keep talking to me, I guess," Ryan says. "I'll ask Dr. Allen if there's anything specific."

"I can do that," John promises. Then he frowns. "Wait, you said your next appointment is the end of next week." He gets his phone out to double check, and then shows Ryan his calendar. "We have an appointment next Tuesday with Dr. Hewitt."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "It's... I know the timing isn't great? But it's important. We'll go back to Toronto in a few days like we planned, see Dr. Hewitt next week, and then I'll fly back on Wednesday so I can see Dr. Allen on Thursday."

"I'll come with you," John says immediately, and then catches himself. "If you want, I mean."

"Please," Ryan says. "It helps. And it means a lot, that you're willing to be there even when I'm not doing great."

John turns his hand palm-up, and Ryan laces their fingers together. "I'm always going to want to be there," he says quietly. "So as long as you want me there, I'm not going away."

Ryan tightens his grip, and exhales shakily. "Okay."

It doesn't sound like he believes it yet, but John's starting to learn not to take that personally. If he's here and steady, eventually the rest will come.

-0-

They spend the day after Ryan's appointment making baby lists, and then they do indeed go to Harold's so Ryan can happily stuff himself with pastrami. It's a good day, nice and relaxing after all the stress of the appointment. When they get back to the apartment Ryan casts a sideways glance at the boxes of his stuff, and then throws himself onto the couch. "I'm on LTIR," he declares, resting a hand on his belly.

John can't help laughing. "We'll be back next week anyway. I'll deal with it then."

"Good," Ryan says. "Come watch Netflix with me."

They spend the evening watching cartoons on the sofa. It's nice, John thinks as they're getting ready for bed. A relaxing end to a relaxing day. Hopefully they both sleep well so their flight tomorrow is as un-miserable as possible.

Ryan eats as much of their leftovers as he possibly can before they leave, which is honestly kind of a frightening amount. Their baby is going to be born with a craving for pastrami. There's enough left for John to make himself a really ambitious sandwich and a little left over. John considers putting it in a baggie for the flight, but on second thought, pastrami in a baggie is kind of gross, so he just packs pretzels and throws the rest of the leftovers away.

For once, the airport isn't a nightmare to get through; they get through security easily, and their plane is right on time. It's some kind of minor miracle, but it all goes so smoothly that by the time they land at Pearson, John's almost waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When he mentions it, Ryan snorts. "Welcome to anxiety," he says dryly. "That's like my brain on a constant loop."

Dylan's waiting for them when they get through, because he refused to take no for an answer. "Mitch is making dinner for everyone," he says as they approach. His voice is hilariously ominous. "I made him promise that he wouldn't get sad if we had to order delivery if Ryan couldn't handle it, though."

Ryan wraps himself around Dylan like an octopus. "I don't mind being used as an excuse to get edible food."

"That's why you're my favourite brother," Dylan proclaims, hugging Ryan back. "Well, and Matty, but that's because Matty will eat whatever Mitch cooks and tell him it's gourmet even if the rest of us are eating pizza."

"Teenagers," Ryan says, shaking his head. He sounds like such a middle-aged dad that John cracks up.

"They're the worst," Dylan agrees, like he hadn't been one not too long ago.

John clears his throat and holds up the bags. "Am I walking home with these or...?"

"I mean, if you want," Dylan says, shrugging. "GO Train's probably easier on your feet if you hate my car that much, though."

"I just wasn't sure if I was allowed to interrupt the love fest," John teases.

Dylan sniffs. "Just this once," he says. "Don't get used to it."

John hands him one of the bags, and rests his now-free hand on the small of Ryan's back.

"Our chariot awaits," Ryan says, smiling at John before turning back to Dylan. "At least, I'm assuming it does. Where'd you park?"

Dylan rolls his eyes at them and leads the way. He paid for the good parking and John's grateful; Ryan's doing pretty well, but there's no telling how the flight could have gone. The two of them curl up together in the back seat, and Dylan spends pretty much the entire drive teasing them about chauffeur's fees.

Dylan lets out a sigh of relief when they turn into the driveway. "The house is still standing," he mutters. "No fire trucks in sight. We're probably safe."

"Aiden cuddles," Ryan says dreamily. He gets out of the car, leaving them both behind.

"She's napping," Dylan yells out the window. "Do not wake her, Ryan. You'll understand soon. If she's not ready to get up, _leave her_."

Ryan flips him the bird. 

Dylan turns to John and narrows his eyes. "He used to be scared of my Dad voice. What did you do to him in New York?"

John turns bright red, even though they kept things pretty PG.

"You know what?" Dylan says, raising his eyebrows. "Promise me it wasn't in my bed, and I'll let it go."

"We packed up Ryan's stuff and took it over to my place," John replies. 

"That's not what I asked." Dylan throws himself out of the car, yelling for Ryan.

John rolls his eyes a little as he gets out and grabs their bags before following Dylan inside. When Ryan first came to Isles training camp, John never would've have picked him coming from such a loud family. He definitely is, though; as soon as John walks in the house, he can hear Aiden yelling and some kind of banging noise. He rounds the corner in the kitchen to see Ryan bent over, beaming at Aiden where she's strapped into her highchair, and Aiden happily banging a wooden spoon against the tray as she screeches in Ryan's face.

"I missed you too," Ryan says loudly, so Aiden can hear him over the racket.

She giggles and hits the table again, then holds out her spoon to Ryan.

Ryan takes the spoon and taps out a beat with typical Strome rhythm.

Mitch snorts, and John looks over. "I'm glad you're good at hockey," he says.

"Well, I'm not with him for the dancing," John replies, as Aiden starts bouncing in her seat and Ryan shimmies along to nothing.

"I know the feeling," Mitch says as Dylan joins in.

"Hey!" Ryan protests, turning around and pointing a finger at John. "Don't forget, I have video of you at Zucker's wedding last summer."

"I didn't say I was any better," John says, raising his hands in surrender. "We match." It's a little bit of a lie; John can at least tap his feet along to the beat. Ryan's hopeless. He's not actually good at dancing, though, so he's willing to concede this one.

Dylan grins. "Hear that, Aiden? It sounds like someone wants to have a dance battle while Daddy's finishing dinner."

Aiden laughs and makes grabby hands, and Dylan lifts her up.

"Living room!" Mitch commands, pointing with the spoon he's stolen back from Ryan.

"Wash the spoon before you put it in anything," Dylan says, bouncing out of the room with Aiden in his arms.

"Ew, don't talk about your kinks in front of the baby," Ryan says as he follows.

Again: John is the one whose family is huge, and half Polish, half Portuguese. And yet Ryan's family is the one that makes him feel like he's just run suicides.

"We chose this life," Mitch says, voice mournful, but when John looks over he's smiling.

"We did," John agrees, smiling back.

-0-

Aiden's new favourite game is to sit in someone's lap and smush their cheeks together, which John finds out after they all eat a dinner that was surprisingly good for how bad Dylan had made it seem it was going to be.

"Momo's chef is a good teacher," Mitch says when Dylan won't stop teasing him for his hidden skills.

"In that case, you've been holding out on me," Dylan retorts. Mitch sticks his tongue out in reply, and Aiden reaches out and grabs it.

"Ow!" Mitch tries to detach her baby claws while the rest of them laugh at him. Aiden is laughing too, little baby squeaks, and it's just as cute as it is funny. Mitch isn't bleeding when he manages to get free, thankfully, but he does hand her over to Dylan so he can rinse out his mouth.

"Did you get Daddy?" Dylan coos, poking her tummy.

Aiden growls and slaps at his hand.

"Aw, baby bear," he says, laughing and tickling her. She growls again, but apparently she's ticklish, because she's laughing too.

"That doesn't sound like someone who's calming her down before bed," Mitch calls out from the kitchen.

"Like she's gonna calm down when there are people over," Dylan calls back. "I'm trying the 'wear her out now, make her sleep later' plan."

John's almost looking forward to having these kind of couple fights with Ryan, instead of the almost-world-ending kind.

"That's a bad plan," Mitch says, walking back in.

"They're all bad plans when she's this wound up," Dylan says, shrugging and bouncing Aiden a little.

"Why don't I give her a bath," Mitch suggests, "and then maybe Uncle Ryan can read her a story."

Aiden yells and reaches for Mitch at the word "bath," so John figures that's pretty much decided.

Mitch takes her, and she twists around to wave goodbye to everyone before they head upstairs.

"God, she's too cute," Ryan says, waving back. "I'm really glad you decided to have her, Dyls."

Dylan grins. "Yeah, she's a handful, but I love her."

"I just," Ryan says, voice faltering a little. He glances over, and John grabs his hand reassuringly. "I'm sorry I didn't... at first, y'know. I was kind of awful."

Dylan frowns. "Well, yeah, but you made up for it. And that was over a year ago."

"When you told me and Matty," Ryan says haltingly. "All I could think about was you losing everything you were working for. And I don't mean, like, I considered it and then I moved on, I mean it was the _only_ thing I could think about until you told Mom and Dad."

"But when I did tell them, you backed me up," Dylan points out.

"I know, but—" Ryan chokes up, and squeezes John's hand.

"Ryan hasn't stopped thinking about it since we went to see Dr. Allen," John says, gently trying to steer the conversation towards the root of the problem.

Dylan blinks a few times, but then his eyes widen in comprehension. "Oh. _Oh_. Ryan, it's okay. I swear it's okay, and I get it. I do."

"It's not okay. I fucked up," Ryan insists.

Dylan looks at John quickly, but then back at Ryan before John can even shrug helplessly. "I forgive you," he says gently. "You're allowed to fuck up, Ryan. You made it better, and I forgive you."

"I should've known better. I should've done better," Ryan babbles. "I'm supposed to be the one helping you."

"Hey, no," Dylan says firmly. He gets up and walks over, crouching down in front of Ryan. "That's the anxiety, Ryan. You made a mistake. Everybody makes mistakes. You fixed it really fast, and I forgave you then, and I'm forgiving you again now. You don't have to listen to your brain telling you bad shit."

John lets go of Ryan's hand so he can put an arm around his shoulders. "Dylan's here for you, just like I said. And so am I."

"Mitch and Aiden are, too," Dylan says instantly. "Even if Aiden's not, like, super helpful yet. She gives pretty good cuddles, though."

"She does," Ryan agrees shakily.

"You remember what else she's good at?" Dylan asks. "Making sure the bathroom turns into a swamp."

Ryan laughs. It's not a super great laugh, but John can tell he's trying. "I remember," he says. "And throwing rubber duckies."

"You can go laugh at Mitch if you want," Dylan offers.

Ryan shakes his head a little. "I'll wait until she's warm and dry," he says. "He should be done soon, right?"

As if on cue, the sound of Aiden shrieking comes from upstairs. "Yeah, that's our 'tub is draining' alarm," Dylan says dryly.

"She sounds like me when all the coffee's gone," John comments, and nudges Ryan in the arm.

"You're way worse," Ryan says. "But at least I know you won't revenge pee."

"That chair was never the same," Dylan says sadly.

"Which chair?" John feels compelled to ask.

Ryan snorts. "The one we made you carry down to the curb at the end of the season."

John makes a face. "I touched it?"

"You've definitely showered since then," Dylan says. "Probably even more than once. It's August."

Ryan elbows John in the side. "If you can't handle revenge pee, we're going to be in trouble with the black goop stage."

"Awesome," Mitch says as he comes back, "we've reached the pee and poop stage of the night."

"We've been here for a few minutes," Ryan says, making grabby hands at a much more sleepy-looking Aiden. "You're late to the party."

Mitch rolls his eyes. "Don't say the P-word."

"Ahh," Aiden says, rousing herself from her almost-asleep stupor to whack Ryan in the face.

"I guess I deserved that," Ryan tells her. He pulls Aiden in close, and she snuggles into his neck. It's painfully adorable. And it shouldn't be surprising, considering Ryan lived with her for months during the season, but John can't help staring anyway.

"Wanna help me put her to bed?" Mitch asks quietly. "I think she'll probably go down pretty easily right now."

Ryan smiles softly. "What do you think, Aiden? You, me, a rocking chair, and a book?"

Aiden mumbles something and grabs Ryan's shirt as he stands carefully.

Dylan stands up, too, and kisses the top of Aiden's head. "Goodnight, Aiden-bear. Time to hibernate."

Ryan turns and smiles down at John, then leans down. "Say night-night to Uncle John, Aiden."

Aiden lifts her head, yawns in Ryan's face, and lets go of his shirt to wave at John.

"Night-night, Aiden," John says softly, waving back.

"Night-night," Dylan echoes, stepping over and kissing Mitch on the cheek.

Mitch rolls his eyes. "I'll be back," he says. "And if that's your idea of a goodnight kiss—"

"Not in front of the baby," Ryan says, making faces at Aiden and covering his belly at the same time.

He turns and leaves before anyone can chirp him back.

"Just wait," Mitch says, looking very seriously at John. "By the time your kid is three months old, you'll be over that." He turns and follow Ryan.

"Is Ryan—?" Dylan asks. 

"Totally showing already," John confirms.

"Wow," Dylan says, smiling. "Good thing I dug out a bunch of my paternity clothes while you guys were in New York."

John shakes his head. "You're starting to make me feel like _I'm_ the rookie." He thinks about it for a second before adding, "I guess I am, when it comes to the baby stuff."

"Trust me when I say you'll be up with the big boys in no time," Dylan says. "You get a lot of practice, and there are always people around to give you a hand when you need it."

"You knew what to say to Ryan, too," John observes. "You have hidden depths, Dylan Strome."

Dylan shrugs a little. "Not that hidden," he says. "I've had a bunch of practice. I just didn't realise it until really recently."

John sits back in his chair and folds his arms. "Want to tell me about it?"

"Connor," Dylan says, shrugging a little. "I was around for the whole thing with the Otters. It's not exactly the same as Ryan's, but it's close enough that I figured what worked for helping Connor out would help Ryan, too."

John sighs. "Well, I'm glad one of us was paying attention."

"When he starts to, like, doom spiral, it can help to remind him that that's what he's doing," Dylan says. "Like he was doing before. I was telling him everything was fine, but he couldn't focus on me, so I reminded him that it was the anxiety talking and that he doesn't have to listen to it."

"That makes sense," John says. "I just wish I knew how to help."

Dylan shrugs. "If it's okay with Ryan, I can ask Davo. And maybe Nuge."

"That sounds great, actually," John admits. "I'll ask him about it and let you know."

"Okay. Now come here," Dylan demands, holding his arms out for a hug.

John laughs and gets up. The more Stromes he has in his life, the more hugs he gets. He's pretty happy about it, all told.

-0-

Ryan seems to be in pretty good spirits the day next day; Aiden's a tiny miracle worker or something, and talking to Dylan had probably helped too. It's why John feels okay asking if Ryan would mind having PK visit over the weekend. "He and I can go out if you'd rather not have him here," John assures Ryan. "Just let me know."

"It's PK," Ryan says, as if that's a multi-sentence answer.

"Yes," John says cautiously. "And he can be a lot, even if he's great, so I didn't want to spring him on you or make you feel like you had to have him over."

Ryan wraps John in a patented Strome octopus-hug. "Invite him over; it's fine. If it gets too much I'll go take a nap or something."

"Okay," John says. "Thanks." Part of him really wants to ask if Ryan's sure, but a lot of the stuff he's read about anxiety says not to question people once they've made a decision. So John just hugs him back, and reminds himself to trust Ryan to talk to him.

PK descends upon the house on Friday afternoon, bearing gifts like he generally does. John has seen how much he spoils his niece and nephews, and he has a sudden image what it'll be like after the baby is born.

"Congratulations, guys," he says warmly, as if everything between John and Ryan has been normal this whole time. But then, if anyone can make it true by sheer force of will…

He hands Ryan the bag he's holding. "I took a guess on your sizes, but I'm usually pretty good at that stuff," he says. "My sister absolutely swore by this brand while she was pregnant, so I got you some of their menswear stuff. If you hate it, or if it doesn't fit, there's a gift receipt in there."

"Thanks, PK." Ryan snatches the bag and looks inside. "Oh, wow, pants!"

"Dude, they are the most comfortable pants I've ever tried on," PK says, face lighting up. "I'm seriously considering getting some to just wear as lounge pants. They're like a dream come true."

Ryan hugs him, squashing the bag between them. "I'm gonna go change," he says happily. "There's no seam running up my belly. I already love them."

He turns around and practically runs out of the room.

"There's undershirts in there too!" PK calls after him.

"John, we have to name the baby PK Junior now," Ryan yells back.

John can't help laughing. "Dylan's bringing over clothes too, babe."

"We're not naming the baby after one of my brothers," Ryan informs him. "There are two of them. I'd never hear the end of it from either one of them no matter what."

"Wait, you're having a boy?" PK asks, practically bouncing on his toes.

"We don't know, and we decided not to find out," John says. "PK can go either way, though, and I'm pretty sure Ryan's just covering his bases with the brothers thing."

PK nods. "Solid plan."

"I don't want to name the baby after anyone who could possibly get mad at us for something later on," Ryan says, coming out of the bedroom wearing an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants. "Also, PK, I want three of everything. Can I order this stuff online?"

The two of them take a deep dive into the world of fashion, and John makes the command decision to leave them to it while he takes care of dinner. He's not making anything fancy, but that just means it doesn't require all of his attention. He's really not trying to listen in, but his mind isn't exactly engaged with food prep, and PK's not a quiet dude, so when he hears PK exclaim that they have clothes in Isles colours, John freezes.

"That's great," Ryan says flatly. "I mean, I don't know how long they'll keep me but John's an Islander for life if he wants to be."

There's quiet for a moment, and then PK sighs. "If you want to talk about shitty trades, man, I am here for you. Trust me, I get it."

They're both quiet for a while, and John's trying to figure out if he should step in when Ryan says, "First trade is the worst, right?"

"Especially if you don't know it's gonna happen," PK agrees. "I mean, I knew the GM wanted me gone, but I really thought Moulson would have my back." He laughs more bitterly than John's ever heard him do before. "It's a business, right? That's what they tell you."

"Could be worse," Ryan replies. "I'm not even useful as an asset."

"Oh, bull-fucking-shit," PK says. "Who said that? I'm gonna fight them."

"No-one, but it's obvious. They un-traded me and had to give up someone else." Ryan's voice wobbles, and John wants nothing more than to go give him a hug.

PK sighs. "No, man, hey," he says. "They un-traded you because you were retroactively placed on IR, which voided the terms of the trade. That has nothing to do with how awesome you are. That's how lawyers work."

"If I was any good, why don't they want me?"

PK hums a little. "Am I a shitty player?"

"You're an All Star," Ryan says. "It's different."

"Is Drouin a shitty player?" PK asks. "Or, hell, Eberle?"

"All Stars," Ryan repeats. "I'm a plug at best."

"Bull-fucking-shit," PK repeats. "Dude. You were traded for an _All Star_. You think they'd give up Eberle for just anyone? Who'd they end up sending instead of you, huh?"

Ryan makes a sniffling noise, and that's officially more than John can take. He heads over to the sink, calls out "Do you want some water, babe?" and gets Ryan a drink anyway. Then John strolls into the living room like he hasn't listened to everything they've just said.

PK raises his eyebrows, too familiar with John to buy it, but Ryan just takes the glass of water and slumps into John when he sits on the sofa.

John rubs Ryan's back and studiously ignores the way PK is trying to eyebrow-talk at him.

Finally, PK sighs. "They sent a rookie and a really good prospect instead of you, Ryan," he says. "That's not nothing. That's _so far_ from nothing."

"Remember what Dylan said?" John adds. "You don't have to listen the anxiety."

"They still traded me," Ryan says, voice small. "They could do it again."

"The Preds could trade me again tomorrow," PK says. "Almost everyone could be traded at any time. We're still gonna play hockey, though."

Ryan frowns down at his stomach. "I'm not, at least not this season."

"You're still part of a team, though," PK says firmly. "You can have your doctor talk to the trainers and set up a routine for workouts and stuff. You can do video sessions. You can go to practices and yell at guys when they fuck up drills."

"Rehabilitation sucks, but you can do it," John adds. "You're tougher than you give yourself credit for."

"So you have to take a season off, so what," PK says. He leans in a little and smiles. "At least you're getting a cute kid out of it. Hossa has to take the year off because he's allergic to hockey equipment."

Ryan cracks a smile; John could kiss PK for that miracle, honestly.

"I bet every single person he's ever played with sent him a tub of OxyClean," PK adds. "People are just gonna give you cute baby stuff."

Ryan snorts. "I've lived with a baby. I think I'd rather have the OxyClean."

"I will be sure to spread the news," PK says, smiling broadly. "Every cute outfit has to be accompanied by at least one tub of OxyClean."

Ryan holds his hand up for a fistbump. "Or a refill for the Diaper Genie."

"I'm taking notes," PK promises, bumping Ryan's fist. Then he pulls his phone out and literally makes a note. All it says is _cute baby shit, oxyclean, diaper genie refills_ , but it's a start.

-0-

Ryan's appointment with Dr. Hewitt is pretty unremarkable, which is the best news they could get, according to Mitch. She does give them a few recommendations for doctors in New York, which John starts looking up as they're flying back to Brooklyn. When they get through customs and hail a cab, John gives the driver his home address. Ryan does a double take, and then smiles softly. "Let's go home."

"Home sounds good," John agrees, smiling back. Ryan can take a nap, and John can call some of the doctors on Dr. Hewitt's list to see if they can schedule an appointment soon.

They make it back to the apartment without incident, which is a lot better than last time. Ryan seems to have more energy now that he's further into the second trimester. John's pretty relieved, honestly; it's not that he minds helping Ryan get around, but he's going to be playing hockey a lot during the third trimester, and he wasn't looking forward to asking Sheena Boychuk to make sure Ryan, like, woke up to pee.

Ryan's fully on board with a post-travel nap, though. He kicks off his shoes and wriggles his toes happily before heading to the bedroom. "I'll get you up for dinner," John promises, and Ryan waves before closing the bedroom door.

John settles on the sofa, surrounded by boxes of Ryan's unpacked things, and pulls out his phone. Three of the four offices John calls can see them in the next week, which is hopefully a good sign, and the fourth one at least has the decency to tell him that they don't have a lot of scheduling flexibility and therefore might not be the best choice for him and Ryan.

John congratulates himself for a job well done by heading to the bodega for a six-pack. Then he heads back and cracks open a bottle to keep him company while he tackles the boxes. He's not sure where Ryan will want to put it all, so he ends up making piles on the sofa and the coffee table. At least that way Ryan won't have to bend down to reach—John's seen the way he holds his lower back sometimes.

Part of him wants to wait until Ryan gets up to order dinner, just in case he's in the mood for something specific, but the rest of him thinks that letting Ryan sleep after a flight is probably the better plan. If Ryan's not in the mood for Italian, well, they can order something else and John will eat a lot of leftovers.

When John goes to wake Ryan, he has to stop in the doorway for a minute and try not to laugh. The bed looks like a tornado hit it: Ryan's feet are sticking out, the blankets are all over the place, and he's clutching one corner like he thinks it'll try to escape while he's dreaming. John sits down on the bed and wraps a hand around one of Ryan's ankles. It's best to soothe him awake if you don't want a black eye.

"Hey," John says quietly, then rubs at Ryan's ankle. "Ryan. Food's on its way."

"Mmm, food," Ryan says, smiling fondly without opening his eyes.

"I ordered you penne alfredo," John says. "And I ordered me chicken parmesan, but we can switch if you want."

Ryan sighs. "You're the best." He stretches carefully, and blinks his eyes open. He's nowhere near awake yet, so it takes him a minute to focus on John's face.

"How was your nap?" John asks, once he's sure Ryan is actually awake enough to respond.

"Good," Ryan says. "I think I'm gonna like it here." 

John ducks his head to hide his stupid grin, and squeezes Ryan's ankle.

"This bed is super comfortable," Ryan adds, and when John looks up, he's smiling brightly. "And, I mean, the roommate situation seems decent."

"If you play your cards right, your roommate might give you a foot rub after dinner," John replies. He feels ridiculously giddy and hopeful.

Ryan groans pretty indecently. "I'll eat whatever my roommate ordered me for dinner, then," he says.

"Penne alfredo," John repeats, because he's pretty sure Ryan was still out of it. "And chicken parmesan."

"Oh, yum," Ryan says. It takes him a minute, but he throws the sheet off and manages to sit. "Which one's mine? Can we do half and half, or does that nix the foot rub offer?"

John snorts. Yup, Ryan was definitely still asleep at the start of this conversation. "You can have whatever you want. You earned the foot rub by not kicking me in the face this time."

"You didn't put your face anywhere near my feet, and I'm getting less bendy by the minute, I think," Ryan says, patting John on the shoulder as he stands. "I don't smell Italian. When's it supposed to get here?"

"Fifteen minutes," John says. "I wasn't sure how long it'd take to resurrect you."

"That's fair," Ryan concedes. "Maybe we can unpack some of my stuff before it gets here."

John keeps his face carefully blank. "Good plan."

Ryan opens the door and stops in his tracks. "You," he says, then laughs. "Why am I even surprised?"

John wraps his arms around Ryan from behind, and hooks his head over his shoulder. "I wasn't sure what you want to do with all it, but I wanted to save your back."

"My back thanks you, because your kid is doing a number on it," Ryan says, patting John's hand and leaning back against him. "Well, I guess I know what we're doing tonight."

"I can't wait," John teases. He kisses Ryan's cheek, and they get to work.

They manage to mix Ryan's DVDs in with John's before the food gets there. Ryan answers the door and gets the food while John brings the clothing into the bedroom, and they decide to leave the rest of it until after they eat, mostly because Ryan looks like he's ready to devour the delivery, containers and all.

Ryan jabs a fork into the penne and shovels some pasta into his mouth before John's even managed to get plates out. "Less dishes," he says, pointing at the container with the chicken parmesan in it. "Just eat it from the box."

John isn't going to risk losing his hand by taking the boxes from Ryan. Besides, Ryan isn't wrong about it creating fewer dishes.

He gets a couple of bites of the chicken parmesan before Ryan starts making sad eyes. Mitch was right: all food belongs to the pregnant one. John hands the box over and stands up; there's probably something in the cabinet that he can throw together for himself. Hopefully canned soup doesn't make Ryan even hungrier.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asks through a mouthful of pasta.

"Getting some other food," John says, gesturing to Ryan and his boxes. "You eat that. I'll make something else."

Ryan's face falls, and he sets the boxes down on the coffee table.

"I'll make something else," John repeats. "You feed the kiddo, okay? You both need to eat."

"Are you sure?" Ryan asks, even though he's already cutting a sideways glance at the pasta.

"Absolutely," John says firmly. "You love pasta. Apparently our kid loves pasta, which means they have great taste. That means you get the pasta, and I'll make cream of chicken soup."

Ryan hesitates for another microsecond before diving back in.

John heads into the kitchen and grabs the soup can from the cabinet, determined to make Ryan believe it's the best can of soup John's ever had. He wouldn't mind eating it even if it tasted like can, but it'll be easier to get Ryan to eat the good food if John looks like he's enjoying what he's eating. And next time, John thinks as he starts to heat the soup up, they'll just order extra delivery. Ryan can only eat out of so many boxes at once.

-0-

Ryan's second appointment with Dr. Allen isn't what John would call easy, but he does come out of it a lot less shaken and doesn't need as long to recover, so John will call it a success. They get ice cream afterwards, because Eberle and Hall are right about it having magic powers, and Ryan manages the tiniest of smiles.

Ryan doesn't have anything he really wants to talk about from the appointment, so they shift topics to talk about their plan for finding a baby doctor in Brooklyn. Ryan picks a name at random from the list John already narrowed down. It's easy enough to schedule an appointment on the drive home, and by the time they get there, Ryan's booked for ten the next morning. They manage to get through some more unpacking before Ryan starts trying to hide the fact that he keeps yawning.

"Nap time?" John asks, looking at Ryan. "This stuff isn't going anywhere. We can wait."

Ryan shrugs. "I don't think I could sleep right now, but rest time sounds good."

"Sure," John agrees easily. "I'll put the golf channel on and we can just relax for a little bit."

Ryan pokes him in the ribs. "I know what you're trying to do."

"We get the fishing channel, too," John says as he reaches for the clicker. "Not on purpose, I don't think, but it's part of the sports package."

Ryan gets comfortable on the sofa, which involves shoving his feet into John's lap and propping himself up with something like a dozen throw pillows. It looks wildly uncomfortable to John, but Ryan's eyelids are already drooping, so he doesn't say anything. John starts rubbing Ryan's ankle, and Ryan sighs happily.

"M'not gonna sleep long," he mumbles.

John smiles to himself. "Okay. I'll be right here, watching golf."

"Golf," Ryan echoes, then shifts a little. John's pretty sure he's already asleep. He looks calm and relaxed, which feels like a miracle.

John leaves the golf channel on; it's barely even background noise, but it gives him time to think. They only have a couple of weeks left now before they move back to New York for the season. There's still a lot to do, but John's pretty sure they can manage. Ryan's probably going to cry when they leave Toronto, but that's okay; John's had practice. At least they're not driving down with Dylan and Aiden. There's no bucket big enough to hold all the tears Aiden's going to cry when she has to leave Daddy again.

Aiden's getting damn close to her first birthday, which is nuts. It feels like it's only been days since Ryan sent a picture of himself carefully cradling her tiny newborn frame, and John lost his heart all over again. He can't believe that in a handful of months, that's gonna be him and his own kid. It's going to be incredible, and he's probably going to cry a lot.

Ryan shifts in his sleep and moves his hand to cradle his stomach. John feels like all the air has been punched out of his lungs. He bites at his lip a little before deciding that nobody's around to chirp him for it, since Ryan's still asleep, so he leans over, hovering a little awkwardly. "Hi, baby."

There's no answer, of course; John would have a heart attack if he heard a disembodied baby-voice. He's not sure what he was expecting, but he doesn't exactly want to lean away, either. He's been so focused on Ryan, and on everything they need to do before training camp, that he hasn't had much time to just stop and be in the moment. It's a pretty amazing moment, if John's being honest with himself. The guy he loves more than anything else is sleeping peacefully, one hand curved around where their baby is growing. It's not perfect, sure, but John can't really think of much that he'd change.

He can't even bring himself to regret that it's happening so soon, before they got some important wrinkles ironed out in their relationship. It's an extra challenge for sure, but if they'd waited it might not have happened at all. Who knows how they would've dealt with Ryan being in Edmonton? Something tells him it wouldn't have been pretty. John squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to think about what-ifs and how he would've handled Ryan giving him the silent treatment from thousands of miles away. They're here now, though. John will take what he's got.

Even if it means pretending to be interested in watching golf for the next hour. The things he does for love, honestly. John sits there until his leg cramps up from the weight of Ryan's feet.

The golf is still—endlessly, still—going strong when Ryan abruptly snorts and wakes himself up. "Time s'it?" he asks groggily.

"I'm not sure," John says. He gestures to the television. "You haven't missed anything."

Ryan frowns at the TV. "They're still golfing?"

"They're always golfing," John replies. "Or talking about golfing."

"Let's not rot the baby's brain," Ryan says as he grabs the clicker.

"Golf is important," John protests halfheartedly, but he doesn't fight Ryan for the clicker. "What else will the baby do in the offseason?"

"Eat, sleep, nap, repeat. It's tough learning to be a human," Ryan says, smiling fondly.

"Golf is soothing," John says, fighting back a smile. "It put Papa right to sleep. Who says the baby won't like it, too?"

Ryan elbows him in the ribs. "If you make our baby love golf, you can carry them around the golf course in a sling."

"That won't help my swing," John says, and when Ryan elbows him again, he laughs. "I'll still do it, though. As long as I can follow you around while you're wearing golf pants."

Ryan gets up from the sofa—carefully, because they both heard all about ligament strain from both Dr. Hewitt and Dylan, repeatedly—and gives John a weirdly thoughtful look. John's still trying to figure out what's up when Ryan facewashes him.

"Hey," John says, laughing and reaching for Ryan. "What was that for?"

Ryan's laughing right along with him and steps easily into John's arms, and John realises that he doesn't really care about the answer.

-0-

The drive to Dr. Grant's office takes longer than it should but not longer than John planned for, so they're still fifteen minutes early. Brooklyn will always be Brooklyn, John figures. Ryan clutches John's hand in a death grip while they wait.

"It's gonna be okay," John murmurs. "If you hate him, we've got a bunch of other places we can go. You don't have to make a decision today."

Ryan sighs. "I just wish I didn't have to talk to so many new people."

"I can try to answer his questions," John says. "I know some of the basic stuff, at least, and we have the records from Dr. Hewitt."

"It'll be okay," Ryan echoes, like he's trying to convince himself.

"It will," John says gently. "And if you need some help, let me know. You can just, like, squeeze my hand or something, and I'll answer the question if I can."

Ryan lets out a shaky breath, and John squeezes his hand as a test-run. Ryan squeezes back and manages a tiny smile. It's not much, but John will take it.

The nurse calls them in eventually, and she puts Ryan through the usual routine. They have a few minutes alone before the doctor comes in, and John spends them rubbing his thumb against the back of Ryan's hand.

"Can't be worse than the Combine, right?" Ryan comments just as the doctor walks in.

"If it's even half that bad, then I'm doing my job wrong," Dr. Grant says, smiling at them both. "I'm Dr. Grant. It's nice to meet you."

Ryan has to let go of John to shake Dr. Grant's hand. He gets the same look on his face that Aiden has whenever John makes her let go of his shoes so he can put them on to leave. "I'm Ryan," he says. "I'm the, uh. Pregnant one."

John introduces himself too, and they get down to the business of figuring out if this is the person they trust with Ryan's life, and the baby's.

Dr. Grant is very different from Dr. Hewitt, but John doesn't necessarily think that's a bad thing. He takes a lot of notes, and asks some questions about what Ryan's support network is going to look like once John's back at work.

Ryan names some of the people who work with the Isles and Sheena Boychuk, then hesitates a little before blurting out, "And I'm seeing a therapist. For—I've got anxiety."

"Okay," Dr. Grant says calmly, and makes another note. "Are you on any medication?"

"No," Ryan says, shaking his head. "I was diagnosed after we found out, and I wasn't sure what to do, or if it was safe for the baby."

"We can talk about that," Dr. Grant says. "There are a few medications that could be safe for you and the baby, but unless you and your therapist think you need to be on them now, I would recommend waiting. There are ways we can work it in, though, so don't think that you absolutely have to avoid them at all costs. Your health is important, Ryan."

"I can wait," Ryan says immediately. He's squeezing John's hand pretty tightly, but John doesn't think it's a 'please take over' kind of squeeze. "I can—I don't want to hurt the baby."

"That's a good place to start," Dr. Grant says, nodding. "It's possible for me to talk to your therapist, if you're willing and you can fill out some additional paperwork. Maybe between all of us, we can figure out what's best for everyone. What do you think about that idea?"

Ryan exhales loudly, like he's been checked hard. "So I don't have to, like, make a call now? On my own?"

"You don't," Dr. Grant says firmly. "In fact, you _shouldn't_. Talk it over with your partner, with me, with your therapist. We can all help you make the best choice for you, and you don't have to make it today. Or tomorrow, or next week."

"And it's okay if you change your mind," John adds, rubbing his thumb over the inside of Ryan's wrist.

"Yes," Dr. Grant agrees. "You're not locked in either way. There are considerations to each choice, and you might feel differently in a month from how you feel now. You can always change your mind."

Ryan drops his shoulders, and his grip on John's hand loosens. "Okay."

"Okay," Dr. Grant repeats, giving Ryan a gentle smile. "Do you have any other questions for me?"

"My brother said I should probably talk to you about my training," Ryan replies, visibly relaxing now that he's in more comfortable territory.

Dr. Grant nods again, and the conversation shifts to the dos and don'ts. It's mostly a list of what Dylan had told them from what he remembered, but more tailored to where Ryan is specifically in his pregnancy. "Being active is good," Dr. Grant concludes, "but now is a good time to start listening to your body. If you're uncomfortable, don't push it."

Ryan grimaces, and John tries not to laugh. Telling a hockey player not to push it is about as useful as cautioning a New Yorker about traffic. They know, but most of the time they get caught up in it anyway.

"Well, there's no need for us to do an ultrasound today," Dr. Grant says as the appointment winds down. "You just saw your doctor in Toronto, and all of the records you sent in look fine. Unless you're worried about something, we can put it off until the twenty-week scan."

"I'm always worried about something," Ryan says wryly. "But you're right; I just had a scan. I think I'm good with waiting."

John is so damn proud of Ryan he could kiss him.

"Okay," Dr. Grant says agreeably. "I understand that you're still looking at doctors in the area, and I won't pressure you into making a decision right now. But even if you decide not to visit us again, my advice is to find someone before the twenty-week scan."

"Thanks," John says when Ryan squeezes his hand. He can take the lead from here for sure. "We'll make sure we figure it out before then."

Dr. Grant shakes both of their hands before leaving, and Ryan turns to John. "I liked him," he says, almost like it's a confession. "Is it bad if I don't want to see any other doctors? He was good, right?"

"He was good," John agrees. "I'm comfortable with him if you are."

"He was good," Ryan repeats. "I'm comfortable with him. We should make another appointment here."

John reels him in for a hug. It's nice to have something turn out to be easy. Hopefully things are starting to really smooth out.

-0-

They manage to get the last of Ryan's things put away over the next day and a half, and then they fly back to Toronto for Ryan's mom's birthday. It's probably going to be their last trip home until the end of the season. They need to figure out how to get everything packed and back down to Brooklyn when Ryan driving his own car would be kind of a nightmare, but that's a problem for after the party.

When they walk in, Ryan's mom sweeps him into a hug. Ryan buries his face in her shoulder, and John just quietly steps around them so they can have their moment.

"Hey," Matty greets him. He glances at Ryan and Trish. "Want a beer? They're in the cooler out back."

"Sounds good," John replies. "Lead the way." 

Dylan's holding court when they get outside, Aiden sitting at his feet and poking at his shoes with determination. Oscar is laying on his back in the sun a few feet away; it's a little shocking that Aiden's not crawling all over the dog, honestly.

"She's fascinated by shoelaces," Matty says when he notices John looking. "Watch your shoes. She tried to eat Dad's laces earlier, and we all got an earful from Marns about eating dirt and germs."

Mitch scowls at him. "She's around hockey players all the time! What if she tried to eat sweaty skate laces?"

"They'd taste gross, and she'd only do it once," Dylan says mildly.

"You're seriously underestimating how stubborn she can be," Mitch argues.

"He still wants to sanitize her binky every time she throws it onto the floor," Dylan says to John. "She's ten months old. Floor dirt isn't gonna kill her."

Aiden lunges for John's shoes. Mitch scoops her up and launches into a stern talk about airport germs.

"Ahhhh," Aiden argues back, poking at Mitch's cheek.

"No, listen, this is important," Mitch says, but he can't help smiling.

"If it's not Cheerios, it's not important," John says, grinning as Aiden whips her head around at the magic word. Aiden coos, and reaches out for John.

"Hi, sweetie," he says, taking her from Mitch. "Do you want Cheerios? I didn't bring any, but I bet Grandma has some in the cabinet." Aiden smacks him on the collarbone with her fist. "I'll take that as a yes," John says, laughing a little.

"Aiden, nice hands, please," Dylan says. "Hitting isn't nice hands."

She stares at Dylan and shoves one hand into her mouth, clutching at John's shirt with the other.

"See? Stubborn," Mitch declares. He raises his chin, proud of his victory, and Dylan goes over to facewash him.

Aiden looks at them, then up at John, fist still firmly in her mouth. He's definitely feeling the need to find some Cheerios before she decides to turn on the alarms.

He heads into the kitchen, talking quietly to Aiden about the importance of listening to your Papa. She stares at him like she's listening, but when he pauses, she takes her slobbery hand out of her mouth and pats John's forehead with it.

"Thanks," he says, gently grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away before she can get drool in his eye. "Let's wash hands before we eat, okay?"

Aiden blows spit bubbles at him, and when he washes her hands she tries her hardest to splash him. "You can splash Daddy later," John says. He's got water on his shirt, but he's seen far worse where Hurricane Aiden is concerned.

She squeals at the top of her lungs when she sees the Cheerios box, and John's happy they're not in a little apartment where her voice would echo off the walls.

"Cheerios," John says, trying to figure out the best way to get them from the box to Aiden. He's experienced enough to know that handing her the box is a bad idea, but he doesn't have enough hands to hold Aiden and pour the Cheerios into a bowl at the same time. He eyes her, considering. "How are you at standing up?"

Aiden grins and bounces in his arms. Apparently she can't wait to show off, like a true Marner.

"Okay, show me," John instructs, bending down so he can put her feet carefully on the ground. She grabs a fistful of his jeans, but she stays on her feet.

John grins back at her and raises his free hand. "Yaaay, look at you go."

"Ayyyyyyyy," Aiden echoes, beaming. John stands so he can get her Cheerio prize ready before she revolts and learns to run just so she can cause havoc on his watch.

He grabs a small handful, and Aiden carefully selects one perfect Cheerio.

"Ohhhh," she says solemnly, then puts it delicately into her mouth.

John can't help cracking up, and she giggles in response, spraying half-chewed Cheerio onto John's pants. John ruffles her hair. There's no point trying to clean himself up until she's done.

She yanks on his pants, tilting her head back and opening her mouth up like a baby bird. He's definitely not going to risk tossing a Cheerio in and having her choke, so he holds his hand down to her so she can choose again.

"Oh my god, this is too much."

John looks up, but Aiden ignores the interloper. Dylan is grinning at them, phone out. "Aiden, is Uncle John giving you Cheerios?"

"Ooooooooh," Aiden says, tugging on John's pants again.

"You want a Cheerio?" he asks, smiling down at her. "I never would have guessed."

Aiden grabs his thumb so he can't take her treasure away. She laughs when he gasps at her, then grabs a handful of Cheerios and mashes them all into her mouth at once. Her cheeks bulge like a chipmunk.

"You look like your Uncle Ryan when he's on a pretzel bender," he informs her.

"Hey!" Dylan protests. "Pretzels are a family tradition."

John shrugs a little. "I don't think I ever saw you go full chipmunk with them, though." Not for lack of trying on Dylan's part, probably.

Dylan comes over and picks Aiden up, and when she smiles at him a piece of Cheerio falls onto his shirt. "You dropped something," he says, picking it up and holding it out. She ducks down and eats it right out of his hand.

John can't help grimacing.

Dylan notices and grins at him. "Get used to it," he advises. "You're gonna see and do grosser."

"The things we do for love," John says, shaking his head.

"You have no idea," Dylan says, shaking his head, but he definitely catches Aiden's hand before she shoves half-chewed cereal into his mouth. John's glad to know that even parenthood has its lines.

-0-

The birthday get-together is nice, and Ryan seems to unwind little by little as he spends more time with his family. The mom hug especially seems to have helped. He falls asleep in the car on the way home, and John can't resist taking a picture when he's at a stop light. He sends it to Dylan, and gets back an almost identical shot of Aiden drooling in her car seat.

 _please tell ryan i'm holding back and not putting a collage on insta right now,_ Dylan sends a moment later.

 _who snores it better_? John texts back.

 _tie,_ Dylan replies. _at least they're not living together anymore. the windows used to rattle._

John can't help smiling. _we have to get a video of that_.

 _at your own peril,_ Dylan says, then, _i need a copy._

A car horn sounds as John's tapping out a reply, and Ryan twitches in his sleep.

Right, driving. That should happen. John puts his phone down and heads towards home.

John feels terrible for waking Ryan up; he looks so relaxed, for once. "Hey," he says gently. "Ryan, hey, we're home. Bed's really close."

Ryan wrinkles his nose and swats at John's arm. "Leave me 'lone."

"Upstairs," John says. "We need to go inside. You'll be really sore if you sleep here all night."

Ryan blinks his eyes open and facewashes John.

"But your bed," John says, grinning at him. "Your pillows, Ry."

"But it's so far." Ryan pouts, and the resemblance to Aiden really is startling.

"I'll help," John promises, holding his hands out.

Ryan swings his legs out of the car and lets John help him fight gravity. He sways into John and sighs, throwing his arms around John's waist.

"Bed or sofa?" John asks, hugging Ryan back.

"Bed," Ryan mumbles. "I'm already up. Might as well."

John kisses him on the forehead and leads the way.

Ryan does most of his own walking, which is a pretty remarkable accomplishment. His feet drag on the stairs, and John puts his hand on the small of Ryan's back to keep him moving. 

"Almost there," he says encouragingly.

Ryan looks back over his shoulder. "Tuck me in?"

"Of course," John says reassuringly. He can't help the way he's smiling.

When they get to the bedroom, Ryan flops down and makes a sad face at his shoes. John has to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling Ryan to use his words, but it's a near thing.

"Why are shoelaces?" Ryan complains.

"They're the worst," John agrees, moving to take Ryan's shoes off. "We should get you tennis shoes."

Ryan frowns up at him. "Why would I want to play tennis?"

"They slip on and off," John replies, tapping Ryan's ankle. "No laces."

Ryan just yawns and his eyes drift shut.

"Good talk," John teases.

"Love you," Ryan mumbles. "New shoes. Bad laces."

John covers him as best he can, but Ryan’s mostly lying on top of the covers so he ends up as a failed burrito. He wiggles a lot in his sleep, though, so chances are good that he'll find his way under eventually. By the time John gets to the doorway Ryan's already snoring again.

"Sleep well," he says softly, pulling the door shut behind him.

John sneaks downstairs and gets out his phone to give his mom another update. She wants to know everything, all the time. It's sort of a relief. It's not like John actually thought she'd be mad or anything, but it's nice that she's so supportive. Even if she does give him hell half the time about making sure he takes good care of Ryan.

 _I'm open to suggestions,_ he finally says, bracing himself.

 _Something nice_ , Mom texts back.

John rolls his eyes, because she's not here to see him do it. _Thanks._

_Do you want me to come help set up the nursery?_

_I'm not sure,_ John texts back quickly. _We haven't really made nursery decisions yet._

His phone starts ringing straight away, which John really should've seen coming.

"Hi, Mom," he says. "We're talking about it. It's not a huge priority right now, though."

"You'll run out of time before you know it," she counters. "You only have a few weeks before the season starts."

"We'll figure it out," John says. He sort of just wants to be stubborn, but more than that, he doesn't want to make decisions without Ryan.

His mom sighs. "With the first one, it's hard to know what you're getting yourself into. "

"We might take you up on the help," John says, relenting a little. "We just haven't made any decisions yet. We're working on it."

Mom lets it drop after that, and John fills her in about the trip to New York. She hums and comments a lot, and John settles into the conversation, asking after his aunts and sisters when he finishes the Brooklyn stories. She promises to send cake for his birthday, like he's turning seven instead of twenty-seven. And like he eats cake as a general rule. Someone will definitely take care of the evidence for him, though.

At least Ryan won't be on a strict meal plan. John's also reasonably sure at least a couple of the rookies will be sticking around, and rookies are, as a rule, calorie-burning machines. He promises to spoil Ryan, and make him a nice dinner, and Mom makes a happy sound before she hangs up. He's pretty sure she's going to actually check in with Ryan about the spoiling him part, so he needs to figure that out, but the nice dinner thing should probably come first. At least he has plenty of time to figure it out, while Ryan's napping.

He's just about to see what's sort of fancy and also on Skip the Dishes when his phone starts ringing.

"Hey, Dylan," John says when he answers. "It's been hours; what's up?"

"Davo," Dylan answers, and then doesn't add anything, like that's supposed to explain everything.

John isn't sure he wants to know, but he has to ask. "Davo is up?"

"Blowing up my phone, yeah," Dylan says, snickering like he just landed the best joke ever.

"Please don't talk about him and blowing in the same sentence."

Dylan laughs, and John sort of wonders what he's set himself up for. "Not today. Listen, you remember how I said Davo's got... it's not exactly the same as how Ryan is, with the anxiety, but he's been dealing with it since we were kids. He wants to know if Ryan wants to talk to someone who sort of gets what he's going through."

"Oh." John does remember it, now that Dylan mentions it. "I'll ask him when he wakes up?"

"Sounds good, yeah," Dylan says. There's a noise, and then a muffled "Aiden, stop it," in the background, and Dylan snorts. "Mitch is trying to read with her, but she's teething again. Everything is a chew toy." He sighs. "But ask Ryan, okay? And you can let me know, or he can let me know, or, like. He could reach out to Davo, I guess, but that's not really how this works, I don't think."

John laughs a little. "Yeah, Ryan has a hard time making the first move."

"You'd know," Dylan says cheerily. "Aiden, hey—uh, yeah, I'm gonna have to talk to you later, she's—"

"Ahhhh!" Aiden yells, close enough to the speaker that John winces a little.

"Good luck," he says hastily, then hangs up. It sounds like Dylan needs both hands. John's just doing him a favour.

Besides, he thinks as he opens Skip the Dishes. He's got important boyfriend-wooing to get to.

-0-

Davo arrives with Nuge in tow, which makes John blink a little. "We're swapping for the afternoon," Davo says. "Switching Ryans. You get mine, I get yours."

"He's very proud of himself for thinking of that," Nuge adds.

John shakes his head. "You've spent too much time with Dylan."

"Occupational hazard," Davo says, grinning.

"I figured we could go sit in the yard," Nuge says. "And Stromer and Connor can talk inside."

"Sounds good," John replies. He'd been planning to let Connor and Ryan have their space anyway, so they could talk without someone hovering. He's not exactly sure what he and Nuge are going to talk about, but he'll play along. John's definitely not going to bring up what Ryan told him about them hooking up at their draft, that's for sure.

John grabs drinks for them both on the way outside, and Nuge raises an eyebrow. "You're really polite for a hockey player."

"I try," John says dryly. "Someone has to make up for the general lack of manners in hockey, I guess."

Nuge shakes his head. "Tell me about it. There's a reason I didn't live with Hallsy and Ebs."

John snorts. "Did either of them ever tell you about World Juniors?"

"Try getting them to shut up about it the first two years I was there," Nuge replies, rolling his eyes. "I can probably give you the blow-by-blow of every minute."

"Ebs texted me a picture of their room," John says. "I threatened to call his mom."

"Somehow, that gets left out of the stories," Nuge says. "So, not to jump topics on you or anything, but how've you been holding up?"

"Good," John says reflexively.

"Okay," Nuge says. "That's great. Because when Connor has an anxiety attack, I go super overboard to make sure everything's as normal as possible for him, and then I need to take some time for myself, and I wanted to make sure you knew that was a thing you should maybe be doing, too."

John chokes on his water and drops the bottle.

"Kinda thought you might need to hear that," Nuge says, but his voice isn't accusatory or anything. "Dylan said that Ryan's been having a tough time. I'm glad that Connor can talk to him, but I actually did want to talk to you, too."

John wipes his face. "Well, we're talking. And it's not even Bell Let's Talk day. Go us!"

Nuge laughs a little. "Look, it's not like I run a support group or anything, but I wanted to let you know that I get what it's like sometimes. It can be... bad, watching what Connor goes through, and I'm betting Ryan being pregnant isn't making it any smoother for you."

"It's fucking terrible," John blurts outs. "Nowhere near as bad for me as it is for him, but holy shit."

Now it's Nuge's turn to choke. He looks wide-eyed for half a second, but then he breaks into a smile that almost seems relieved. "Yeah, man. I didn't know Connor when he first got diagnosed, but from what I've picked up, it was really, really rough. For Ryan to only be getting help now... that has to be awful to watch. And it feels like nothing you do helps a lot of the time, too."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm bad for him," John confesses. "Like, maybe us being together made it worse."

Nuge hums a little. "I'm not going to speak for him," he says after a moment. "Are you there for him, though? When he needs someone?"

John tips his head back and huffs out a sigh. "When he lets me. You know what hockey guys are like."

"I do," Nuge agrees. "But honestly? Him knowing that you're there, even if he's not taking the help you're offering? That's helpful, too." He blows out a breath. "The first time I went through an anxiety attack of Connor's, I stayed up the whole night after while he finally slept, looking up anything I could find. A lot of times with anxiety, there's like... this feeling in the back of their minds, telling them that people are going to leave. Sometimes just being there is helping, even if you feel like you're not doing anything."

That pretty much fits with what John's seen.

"It helps to talk to people, too," Nuge goes on. "People who aren't involved in the day-to-day stuff. I call my brother a lot, because I love Connor and I always want to be there to support him, but sometimes I need some outside support, too."

"PK helped a lot this summer," JT says. "Stammer too."

"Keep reaching out to them," Nuge says. "I mean it. It's really important for you to have a support system. You can't just be there for Ryan and not have anyone to turn to when he's not in a place to help you out."

John nods in response. "I have to be careful who I talk to on the team. I don't want Ryan to think the guys are talking about him behind his back."

"Yeah," Nuge agrees. "Be honest with him about it. Make sure you involve him in choices about who to tell, but don't ask him to make every single choice. That's just gonna stress him out."

John wishes he'd thought to bring a play book or something. "I just don't want to fuck up," he says, shrugging a little. "Or, like. Please tell me that I don't have to be perfect for the rest of my life to keep Ryan going."

"Everybody fucks up. Ryan knows that," Nuge tells him.

"He knows that I love him, too," John points out, "and you just told me that he needs the reminder that I'm not gonna leave."

Nuge sighs. "I wish I had an easy answer for you. All I can tell you is that it's worth it for me, for us."

"Ryan's worth it, too," John says instantly. "And our kid. They're worth anything."

Nuge smiles gently. "Then I think you're gonna be fine, JT."

And, well. When he puts it that way, John can believe it.

-0-

It's not like things magically fall into place after Davo and Ryan talk, but it does feel sort of like Ryan was able to take a deep breath and relax a little. It's enough that Dylan's able to suggest that Ryan find someone who can help him with a pregnancy training routine so it's not as hard to come back, and Ryan is actually kind of excited about it. John channels his mom and packs Ryan a bag of snacks to take with him. Ryan rolls his eyes but takes it with him, and John never sees it again, so he's calling it a success.

Things are still fragile, but it's good having Ryan back. Waking up next to him isn't something John's going to take for granted any time soon. He doesn't want to rock the boat, but there are things they should probably talk about before they go back to Brooklyn for the season, things they should have in place. They have to make some big decisions about how they're going to handle this.

"Hey," John says when Ryan comes home from his second training session. "When you're up for it, we should talk about Brooklyn stuff."

"Ugh." Ryan drops his gym bag and comes over to steal the sandwich John just made.

John snorts and turns to open the fridge. Hockey players are hungry enough all the time anyway; a pregnant hockey player post-workout is something else. He might need to make two more sandwiches. Mitch warned him about sandwiches, though, so John's prepared.

"What kind of stuff?" Ryan asks once he's demolished the sandwich. He eyes the second one John's just finishing, so John slaps the top piece of bread on and slides it over.

"Well, the front office knows you're pregnant," John says, "but we have to figure out what we want to say about the rest of it."

Ryan makes a face. "I don't want to talk about, like, telling the media yet," he says. "Can we wait on that? We don't have to decide yet, right?"

"I meant about us," John says gently, because talking about their future together is still one of the things most likely to give Ryan a panic attack.

Ryan goes still, and he puts the sandwich down. "What about us?"

John reaches across the table, palm up so Ryan can take his hand if he wants. "I want to come out. We're in this together, and I want people to know."

"Oh," Ryan says softly. He reaches out and takes John's hand. "Are you—are you sure? I mean, the cat's gonna be out of the bag on me pretty fast, but you don't have to. We can come up with something."

"I want this," John insists. "I want to stand next to you and be a family."

Ryan grips his hand hard and smiles wobbily. "I want it too," he says. I want us to be together. To stay together." He shrugs a little. "I don't... I don't want to marry you yet. Is that weird?"

John smiles back at him; _yet_ isn't never. "It's not weird. You have a lot going on right now, and we don't need to rush it. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Ryan says, giving him a tentative smile. "I do, I swear. I know it doesn't seem like it all the time."

"And I know you love me, because you're holding my hand instead of eating that sandwich," John points out.

"That's gonna stop soon," Ryan admits. "But I can love you and this sandwich at the same time."

John shakes his head sadly. "Too bad you can't have your sandwich and eat it too."

"Sandwiches are a renewable resource," Ryan says, letting go of John's hand. "Which is a good thing."

"Is that a subtle hint to make you another one?" John teases, already moving to get up.

"Is three sandwiches too many?" Ryan ponders, then nods. "Yeah, another one, please."

John makes two, hopeful that he'll at least get to take a bite this time. Four sandwiches probably is too many, not that he's gonna tell Ryan no if he asks for another.

Ryan takes a huge bite of his sandwich and then tries to say something while he's chewing.

"Definitely," John says, raising his eyebrows. "I couldn't agree more."

Ryan beams at him. It's disgusting.

"You want to tell me what I just agreed to?" John asks, amused despite himself.

"Calling Dylan's PR lady and getting some advice." Ryan looks very pleased with himself.

"Oh, that's a great idea," John says, nodding. "Do you have her number, or should I ask Dylan for it?"

Ryan shrugs. "Actually, I was thinking we could go over for dinner, when they're free. I'm running low on Aiden cuddles."

John smiles. "Great idea," he says. "I was thinking that we could maybe ask them to help us move our stuff down next week, too. Two birds, one stone?"

"Teamwork!" Ryan cheers, holding out his hand for a fist bump.

"It makes the dream work," John adds, keeping a straight face as he bumps Ryan's fist.

-0-

John's glad that they roped Dylan and Mitch into helping them get everything down to Brooklyn. He feels like Mitch is going to be less glad that he decided to drive down with Aiden instead of letting her fly with Dylan and Ryan, but that's mostly because she's teething again. Mitch gives her a dose of Tylenol and walks her around for a while, waiting for it to kick in. Once she stops sucking on Mitch's shirt, he loads her into the back of Dylan's car, then pokes a binky into her mouth. "We're ready when you are."

John boops Aiden on the nose to cheer her up. "Let's go."

He grins as she opens her mouth to snap at his finger, but he's learned that lesson already, so she doesn't get him. She does lose the binky, though, so he pops it back into her mouth before heading for his car.

They're on the road for a little more than an hour when Mitch texts him to say that he's making a cuddle stop. John grins and gets off at the next rest area; he's completely unsurprised.

Mitch pulls up not long after, and pretty much throws himself out of the car. John can hear Aiden yelling through the open door. John is prepared to take Aiden with him for a leg of the trip if Mitch wants, but he's going to save that offer for later in the drive.

"God, you stink," Mitch tells Aiden as he lifts her out of the car. She whacks him in the chest and continues protesting the nerve of her diaper to be dirty.

John makes the command decision to let them have their Moment, and he gets the diaper bag for Mitch.

"Look, sweetie, Uncle John has your diaper bag," Mitch says when John walks back around the car. Aiden whirls in his arms and looks at John.

"I'm not changing her nasty, diaper rashed butt," John replies quickly. There's more than one reason Aiden gets so cranky when she's teething.

Aiden rubs at her eyes and reaches out to John with one hand, and Mitch laughs. "But she loves you!”

"I love her too, but I don't love that smell."

"Get used to it," Mitch singsongs, but he takes the diaper bag from John and walks around to the other side of the car. He changes her with impressive dad-speed, and Aiden's a lot happier when he brings her back.

"Hi, Aiden," John says, holding his arms out towards her. She lunges for him, and he catches her before she can tip out of Mitch's arms.

"Uh uh uh uh," she informs him, clutching at his shirt.

John shakes his head. "That's terrible. Tell me more."

Aiden makes a low noise that builds in pitch until she's humming, high and happy, and patting his chest with one hand. John spins her in a circle, because if she's singing they might as well dance too. She giggles and throws her head back, and John laughs a little as he slows down.

John looks at Mitch. "Do you want to go in and grab a coffee before we get going again? I'll watch her."

Mitch's face lights up. "If we weren't both spoken for, I would kiss you."

"Just bring me one, too," John says, laughing a little as Mitch nods and jogs towards the store. Aiden pats John's cheek and bounces up and down in his arms, apparently unhappy that the dancing stopped. "What, you have an opinion?" he asks her. "That's new. I wasn't expecting that."

Aiden pushes her lips out and blows a huge spit bubble.

"Gross," John says. He glances into the car, but all he sees are the baby wipes, and he's not sure if those are good to use on her face. She giggles, drool running down her chin, and he sighs and wipes her face with his sleeve.

Aiden pokes her tongue out to lick his sleeve, adding even more drool to the situation.

"Tide pods are bad for you," John says, shifting his grip on her so her face isn't as close to his shirt.

"Bababa," Aiden replies seriously, nodding her head.

"Right," John affirms. "Hey. Want some Cheerios?" He's prepared for her ear-splitting shriek in response, but it's still painful.

"Ohhhhhh," she yells.

John grabs her a snack and a sippy cup from the car, and they chill in the sunshine until Mitch comes back.

"Oooh, sneak bid for favourite uncle points," Mitch says approvingly as he hands John's coffee over. "Nice one."

Aiden buries her face in John's shoulder and smacks him with her sippy cup as she tries to burrow closer. "Yeah, you're happy now," he says, patting her back. "Cheerios, juice, and a clean diaper. You gonna maybe nap for Daddy for a little while when we get back in the car?"

Aiden tries to shove Mitch away with her Cheerio-encrusted hand. Apparently she really likes uncle time.

"Keep holding her for a little while, if you don't mind," Mitch says, in soft Aiden-needs-a-nap voice. "The sleepier she gets, the better."

John nods, and tries the bounce-and-rock thing he's seen Dylan and Ryan do. Aiden picks her head up and glares a little but she's definitely drowsy, and she settles back against him when he rubs at her back.

"You're getting good at this," Mitch tells him.

"Good," John says quietly. "I'll be a step ahead of the curve."

Aiden sighs loudly and goes heavy in his arms.

"Yaaaay," Mitch cheers quietly. "Stay put. Sometimes she's a little faker."

John grins. "I know; I've seen the proof on video."

"She's so good at it, though," Mitch says, sounding almost admiring. "Except sometimes she starts laughing."

John raises an eyebrow. "Inability to keep a straight face, huh? Wonder where she gets that from."

"Dylan," Mitch says without missing a beat. Then, true to form, he starts laughing.

John covers Aiden's ears, and tries to shush him.

"She's out," Mitch says, gesturing at her seat. "Wanna do the honours?"

"No!" John says, horrified. What if he bumps her into something and wakes her up?

Mitch starts laughing again as he lifts Aiden out of John's arms and tucks her into her seat. "Ready to get going?"

"As long as you don't scare me like that again," John mutters. He's been around Aiden when she woke up from a nap before she was ready; it's not pretty.

"Go get in your baby-free car," Mitch says, patting John on the shoulder. "We'll see you at the next rest stop."

-0-

The rest of the trip goes as smoothly as possible while travelling with a ten-month-old. There's only one screaming meltdown, which John thinks is actually really good. When they pull up outside John's place, Dylan has food waiting for them because he's the best.

"Food," Mitch moans, and Aiden shrieks and twists, reaching for Dylan and the bottle he's holding.

John leaves them to their adorable reunion and goes to check on Ryan. He's methodically shoving food into his mouth, looking like he just woke up from a nap.

"Hey, Stromey. Nice hustle," John teases.

Ryan looks up at him, then shoves another forkful into his mouth and gives John a thumbs-up.

John is so fond of his ridiculous face. He goes over and ruffles Ryan's hair. "Was the flight okay?" he asks.

Ryan nods his head and keeps eating.

"Kiddo's hungry, huh," John says, sitting next to Ryan at the table.

Ryan bumps their shoulders together, and he smiles a little.

"I took some cute photos of Aiden when we stopped on the way down," John says, digging his phone out of his pocket. "Here, look."

Ryan has to lean close to see the screen; John feels perfectly justified in putting his arm around him. He manages to angle them so Ryan can keep eating while John scrolls through his camera roll, though. Food is definitely a priority.

"Oh no, they're cuddling."

John looks up and finds Dylan staring at him, Aiden in his arms still chugging her bottle.

"Like we haven't both seen you doing more than cuddling," Ryan retorts. Apparently taking a food break to chirp is acceptable.

Aiden waves at him sleepily. It's been hours since her car nap. Even if it led to some really cute videos of Aiden and Mitch having a singalong, John was a little afraid it would make her a grumpy nightmare. It's nice to see that she's just normal tired.

"We're heading out soon," Dylan says. "She needs to have a real n-a-p."

"Me too," Ryan says, sighing. "Hey, Aiden, can Uncle Ryan have a hug?"

Dylan brings her over, and Aiden maintains a death grip on her bottle while he hands her over.

"I'm not gonna take your bottle away," Ryan says soothingly, cradling Aiden close. He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Have a good day, baby girl. We'll play soon, okay?"

When Aiden smiles at him she dribbles milk down her cheeks. It says a lot that John still thinks she's cute.

"Actually, on that note," Dylan says, smoothing at Aiden's hair. "Would you guys mind watching her for a few hours tomorrow? Mitch and I need to do a bunch of cleaning and setting up and shopping and whatever, and it would be easier if we weren't also making sure she wasn't eating tape or whatever."

Ryan bumps John's shoulder. "Think we can handle it?"

"I'm pretty sure we can keep her from eating tape," John says as seriously as he can manage.

Aiden's eyes start drooping. "You're drunk," John teases, and he brushes her curls back from her forehead.

"Milkaholic," Dylan agrees, smiling as he leans in to take her from Ryan. "We'll drop her off around eleven and then call you later? We can bring food again if you want."

Ryan snorts. "What do you mean 'if'?"

"I mean if you can wait for us to get here with it before you need to eat again," Dylan says dryly. "Even odds."

John grins. "I'll make sure he doesn't waste away."

"My hero," Ryan says, leaning back into John's side.

"Let's leave these two alone," Dylan tells Aiden. "You're too young to see this."

"It's like they think she can't see them," John says loudly to Ryan. "As if we're even half as bad."

Right on cue, Mitch walks up behind Dylan and wraps his arms around him. "Ready to go?" he asks, pressing a kiss to Dylan's cheek. "Looks like she's gonna s-l-e-e-p for a while. We can... get stuff done."

Ryan balls up a napkin and throws it at them. "Get out. Now. You're not christening this place before we do."

"Hey, baby ears," Mitch protests, trying to reach around Dylan to cover Aiden's ears. "C'mon."

John gets up to follow them to the door, and make sure they actually leave.

"Do you need us to bring anything?" Mitch asks, swaying Aiden back and forth as Dylan puts his shoes on. "I mean, her diaper bag and her playpen, obviously, but anything else?"

"Something she won't get bored playing with," John suggests. "We haven't babysat here since last season."

"Her kicky piano has become her stompy piano," Dylan says. "Just make sure you put it somewhere near something she can hold onto. Her balance is still kinda crap."

Mitch pokes him in the side. "How very dare you. She's perfect."

"Okay, well, Mitch says just put it in the middle of the room," Dylan replies. "Also, please call him in the apparently extremely unlikely event that she falls and gets mad about it."

John shakes his head. "If that extremely unlikely event happens, I'll get it on video."

"Good thinking," Dylan says, nodding. "It'll never happen, though. She levitates now."

"Maybe you should put her in basketball," John suggests.

"Ew," Dylan says, making a face, just as Mitch says, "Uh, not on your life."

Aiden grunts against Mitch's chest and flails her arm sleepily.

"Swimming," Mitch translates. "Every night in her dreams."

Judging by the way Dylan and Mitch look at her, they're probably certain she's going to be the next Penny Oleksiak. But then, she does kick pretty hard.

"Maybe we'll take a nice b-a-t-h tomorrow," John says. "So she can practise."

Mitch rocks back on his heels, beaming like he's one win away from the Stanley Cup. "She's already started taking lessons."

"She'll be thrilled to show you, and also splash the water all over the bathroom and probably you," Dylan adds. "We'll call you in the morning on our way over."

"Sounds good." John doesn't quite shove them out into the hall, but it's close. He and Ryan have some catching up to do.

-0-

Mitch shows up a little before eleven in the morning with Aiden, her playpen and diaper bag, and more things to entertain her than she will possibly need in a single day. "We couldn't decide," he says. "Better to have too much stuff than have her missing something, right?"

John makes no comment; he's trying to limit what they can chirp him with once the baby arrives.

Ryan apparently has no such self-preservation instinct. "Did you send over every hockey bear she has?" he asks, eyeing the suitcase Mitch drags in after himself.

"Oh, right, I'm totally the one who got her a rocking horse," Mitch retorts.

"You only didn't because I beat you to it," Ryan replies.

John takes the suitcase and starts lugging it towards the bedroom. If they unpack everything at once, odds are good Aiden will have a meltdown from too many choices.

Mitch is setting the playpen up when John returns to the living room. Ryan's holding Aiden, and they both have the same slightly amused, slightly worried expression on their faces as they watch Mitch struggle with it.

"Remember the crib?" John stage-whispers.

"Yes," Mitch says, scowling as he pushes at the locking bar. "You gonna lend an assist here, too, Cap?"

John claps a hand over his heart. "Of course. Aiden needs me."

"Gah," Aiden shouts, throwing an arm out towards him.

"Hold on," Ryan tells her. "Let's go get some snacks. You can cuddle Uncle John later."

Aiden's head whips around at the s-word. "Ohhhh?"

Ryan starts laughing. John makes a mental note to FaceTime Aiden every time Ryan's having a bad day. "Sure, we have Cheerios," Ryan agrees. "I'm sure Daddy sent some, but Uncle Ryan has them here for you, too."

Aiden pats him on the cheek enthusiastically, although from the way Ryan winces it might be more like a slap.

As soon as Ryan heads into the kitchen, Mitch locks the playpen and stands up. "If it's too much, call us," he says quietly. "Dylan got tired a lot, and it was easy for something little to, like, set him off. If it stops being fun, please just call us."

John stares at him. "Did you fake that whole bumbling dad routine?"

Mitch stares back. "Do you seriously think I'm still that bad at handling Aiden's stuff? She's almost a year old!"

"I thought Aiden was supposed to be the faker," John complains. "I haven't had enough coffee for _two_ pranksters."

"She learned from the best," Mitch says. "Seriously, though. I know Ryan's had it rough, so if he needs to bail..."

"I'll send him for a nap and then call you," John promises. "Thanks for giving us the out."

"Okay, good," Mitch says, face breaking into a smile. "Then let me just give you a rundown of things in the suitcase, and I'll get out of your hair."

John snorts. "At this point I'm just surprised she doesn't travel with an entourage."

"Give her time," Mitch says, shrugging a little. "I guess the most important thing is that if you're gonna play with her in the bath, put her in her bathing suit first. We're trying to get her to associate the suit with swimming."

John nods while Mitch does his intense-dad routine, trying his best to remember everything.

"How about we call you if we have a problem?" he finally interjects when Mitch stops for a breath. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

Mitch blinks, his mouth still hanging open. John almost wishes he had a handful of Cheerios to throw at him.

"Go," John adds. "Give her a hug and go help your husband with whatever you guys are doing today."

Mitch blushes all the way up to his hairline.

"And don't tell me," John says hastily. "I'm going to pretend you're cleaning. Lots of cleaning."

Mitch nods. "Yup, lots of pipes to clean out.

"Stop talking and leave," John says sternly. "Or I will call you to come get Aiden in, like, forty-five minutes. Just enough time to get home and start... cleaning."

Mitch laughs in his face and heads for the kitchen."Hey Ryan, did you know Johnny-boy plays dirty?"

"Yes," Ryan replies. "Also, shhhh. Aiden's sleeping."

John peeks over Mitch's shoulder, and sure enough she's conked out in her booster seat. Apparently Cheerios make great snacks _and_ great pillows.

"Oh my god," Mitch whispers, clearly delighted. "She's gonna drool in them and they're gonna stick to her face."

Ryan grins at him. "I promise to take pictures of her beige beard."

"Just try not to let her eat them," Mitch says. "They get crusty if they dry after being drooled on."

John nods seriously. "Got it: don't let her eat the crusty beard bits."

"Have fun," Mitch adds before crossing the kitchen and pressing a light kiss to Aiden's hair. "And remember, when you put her in the bath later to get the Cheerios pieces off her, put her in her bathing suit first. There's a swimming diaper in her bag."

They don't quite shove him out the door, but that's mostly because John doesn't want to wake Aiden up in the scuffle.

"We should put her in the playpen," John says when Mitch is finally gone. "So she doesn't sleep-eat."

"She does love Cheerios enough to sleep-eat them," Ryan agrees.

John nods. "You want lifting duty or Cheerio-face-cleaning duty on this one?"

"I'm already doing enough heavy lifting," Ryan jokes, patting his belly.

"You are," John says, smiling. "Get a Wet Wipe ready. We need to make sure we've got a smooth transition here."

They get her up, cleaned, and set back down for a real nap without waking her up. John feels like a rock star.

"We're awesome," Ryan whispers as they retreat into the bedroom to look through the suitcase. "I can't believe we managed that."

John wraps an arm around him. "We're getting good at it. I almost feel like I know what I'm doing."

"We've got a few months to perfect our technique," Ryan says, grabbing John's hand and putting it on his belly. "I think we'll get it."

"We're a good team," John agrees. Practice won't hurt, but things are definitely looking up.

-0-

True to form, Aiden thoroughly enjoys her bath. She protests loudly when they put her in her bathing suit, but John thinks that's probably because he made the mistake of showing her the water first. Anything that gets between Aiden and splashing, even if it's only for a few minutes, is pure evil in her book. Hopefully she gets to the point where she knows the bathing suit means water is coming soon, but that's definitely not happening today.

She splashes grumpily for a while when they first put her in the bath, and then she seems to realise that they're not going to take away her precious any time soon. She stops glaring and growling at Ryan every time he reaches for her.

"Hey, Aiden," John says, reaching for the secret weapon Mitch had tucked into the suitcase: three brightly-coloured rubber ducks. "Want a duckie?"

Aiden makes grabby hands with both fists, almost clawing him in the process. She yells, delighted, when John tosses them into the bath with her. The red Devils duck is the first casualty. She snatches it up and tries to chew on its head.

"That's not food," Ryan says, but he looks at John instead of trying to take it from her. "That's okay for her to chew on, right?"

"Right," John confirms. "D-a-d wouldn't have sent it with her if we had to be careful with it." Or at least he would've put it in the warning speech when he dropped her off.

Ryan visibly relaxes, and he picks up one of the other ducks to chase Aiden through the water. She giggles and throws the Devils duck at Ryan, hitting him square in the chest.

"Ahh, you got me!" Ryan falls against John, clutching dramatically at his wound. It makes Aiden shriek and laugh, slapping at the water and getting it everywhere. John's resigned to his hair being a dripping mess. Probably the rest of the bathroom, too.

Ryan takes his shirt off and tosses it over his shoulder. Aiden freezes, staring at his rounded belly and pointing a chubby finger at him.

"Uncle Ryan's having a baby," John says when they just blink at each other. "That's a baby, Aiden."

Aiden turns to look at him suspiciously and pats her own chest. "Bah!"

"I know," Ryan says in a croaky voice. "You're the best baby in the world."

"For now," John adds. "You're going to have to share with your cousin when they're born, though."

Aiden starts laughing when she hears the s-word. She grabs another duck and throws it at John.

"I mean, that's one strategy," Ryan says, clearly trying not to laugh.

Somehow they both survive the onslaught from General Aiden. John scoops her up and gets her mostly dry, but Ryan's the one who gets to cuddle her in her dinosaur robe.

"Look at you," he whispers, booping Aiden's nose. "Little dinosaur."

Aiden scrunches up her face. "Raaaar!!"

She stops mid-roar when the doorbell rings, looking around for the noise.

"Who would be rude enough to interrupt Aiden-saur?" Ryan bounces her in his arms and heads for the door.

John smiles to himself and keeps mopping up the bathroom.

"It's a dinosaur!" John hears Dylan say a moment later, somehow still audible above Aiden's shrieks of joy.

"Oh my god, they brought more stuff!" Ryan calls out.

"Oh no," John calls back. He surveys the bathroom quickly; it's dry enough for now, so he heads to the living room. "If you're coming to pick her up, then we don't need more stuff, you guys."

Mitch beams. "This isn't Aiden stuff. Come take a look."

There's a big black garbage bag and a few boxes, and John approaches warily.

Ryan flops down on the sofa and waves his hand. "Bring one over here."

"Sir, yes, sir," Dylan says. He'd somehow pried Aiden away from Ryan while John was still in the bathroom, so he turns to Mitch. "The bag first?"

"That's the good stuff," Mitch agrees. He picks up the bag and hoists it up onto the sofa so Ryan can reach it without bending down.

Ryan rips through the side of the bag rather than trying to untie the top, and John barely suppresses an eye roll. Ryan's eyebrows shoot straight up when he gets in, though. "Uh," he says, pulling out a dress that John remembers Aiden wearing at some point. "This is definitely Aiden stuff."

"She wouldn't even fit her leg in it anymore," Mitch says. "And believe me, she's tried."

"It's a lot of her newborn stuff," Dylan says, shrugging a little. "We know you're not finding out if it's a boy or a girl, but one, babies don't really care, and two, you don't have to use it if you don't want."

Aiden twists in his arms, stares down at Ryan, and says "baby."

The room falls silent.

"Did she just," Dylan says, staring down at her in his arms. He executes a quick move that John's going to have to have him slow down later so he can copy it, holding her out in front of him. "Did you just _talk_?"

Aiden pats herself on the chest. "Baby."

"She talked," Mitch says, walking over and leaning into Aiden and Dylan's space. "Did you say _baby_?"

Ryan clears his throat, and everyone looks at him. He puts his hands on his belly. "This is a baby, too," he says clearly. "We told Aiden there was gonna be another baby."

Aiden scowls and clings to Dylan's neck.

"I guess she's not ready to share her title," John jokes.

"Oh boy," Dylan mutters. He shifts Aiden around. "Big girl," he says, tapping Aiden on the chest, then points to Ryan. "Baby."

"Baby," Aiden yells, smacking herself in the chest.

Mitch snorts, and when John turns to look at him his face is bright red.

"Big girl," Dylan tries again.

Aiden growls and tries to noodle out of his arms.

Mitch grabs her and spins her around a little. "You can be the baby for a little while, but you're gonna have to share," he says. "A couple of your little dinosaur shirts are in that big bag we just gave Uncle Ryan. That's gonna be fun, huh?"

Ryan's eyes go wide, and he starts digging into the bag again.

"Don't show her," Dylan says quickly as Ryan pulls something out. "She'll want them."

"John," Ryan says breathlessly. "The ice skates."

John moves over to stand next to Ryan, looking down at Aiden's tiny knitted booties, cradled gently in Ryan's hands. "Oh," he says softly, reaching down to touch them. "They're so soft."

"That's what I said," Dylan tells him. "Take good care of them, okay?"

"We will," Ryan promises, not looking away from the booties. "We really, really will."

John hugs him close.

"We know," Mitch says softly. "You guys are gonna be great."

-0-

The next few weeks go by in kind of a blur as they settle back into life in Brooklyn. John starts getting ready for training camp and preseason, and Ryan works with Dr. Allen a lot. It's hard, John can tell, but he does his best to be there for Ryan at every possible opportunity. Mostly that involves keeping bottles of water stashed all around the apartment and getting Ryan ice cream whenever he wants. New York in August when you're almost five months pregnant isn't exactly a picnic.

They make it to September without incident, which John's pretty sure they're both grateful for. The heat is starting to drop off, which Ryan is definitely happy about. John's starting to regret taking it easy last month, though, because all of a sudden he only has two weeks left before training camp and they're nowhere near ready for Ryan to be on his own. They don't even have a nursery set up, which he can tell they're both trying not to freak out over, but that's a problem that they'll have to deal with later, because the first hurdle they have to clear in September is the anomaly scan.

John tries not to call it that out loud, because the A word makes Ryan's face turn grey. It's on the calendar as "baby check-up day," which is honestly good enough for John. He gets why Ryan's worried, he really does, but he's excited to get another look at their baby.

Ryan wakes up early the day of the scan, and John catches him trying to sneak out of bed.

"What time is it?"

Ryan laughs at him. "Want to try saying that again in English?"

John groans because he's pretty sure it'll make Ryan laugh again, and he hides a smile in his pillow when it works.

"You should go back to sleep," Ryan says, which sounds like both a wonderful and a terrible idea. John can think of at least five people who'd kill him for letting Ryan sit around by himself in the hours before the scan, thinking of worst case scenarios. If he can list five of anything before coffee, it's pretty much a sign that he should get up anyway, so he throw the covers off.

Ryan stands way back out of the way as John stumbles past. You catch your balance on a pregnant belly _one time_...

"Sit," Ryan says as they enter the kitchen. "I'll make coffee so you can be less of a hazard."

"M'supposed to take care of you," John mumbles as he takes a seat.

Ryan snorts. "You are, by staying over there instead of tripping over my feet."

"Gonna get you flowers," John promises, leaning heavily on his arm as he watches Ryan start the coffee pot. "Big ones. They smell nice."

"Please don't," Ryan says, clearly laughing at John.

John's eyes drift closed of their own volition.

"I can't carry you back to bed," he hears, and his eyes snap back open. He must have lost a little time; Ryan's standing a few feet away with a cup of steaming coffee in his hands.

John shakes his head. "I'm awake."

"I don't know; maybe I should put this in a sippy cup so you don't burn yourself," Ryan teases.

"Aiden would know," John says, reaching out for the cup. "She'd be mad. Don't make Aiden mad."

Ryan puts the cup down, ruffles John's hair, and kisses him on the forehead. "Okay, sleepy. I won't make the baby mad when she's not even here."

"She'd know," John insists, but then Ryan hands over the coffee and John's got more important things to think about.

"You've got time to have a couple more of those," Ryan comments as John inhales his coffee.

John nods. "Good." Today is definitely not a one-coffee day. There really aren't any one-coffee days, but today especially isn't.

He starts to wake up a little more once Ryan's in the middle of making breakfast. "Need a hand?" he asks as he refills his mug again. "I'm functional now, I promise."

Ryan shakes his head and smiles tightly. "No thanks. Staying busy is good."

"Okay," John says, stepping back. He wants to say something else, but he's not going to promise that everything will be fine. He doesn't know that for sure, and it wouldn't help Ryan anyway.

"Are you going to take forever picking what to wear again?" Ryan teases. "Because the baby can't actually see you just because you can see them."

"My shirt had a stain on it!" John exclaims, jumping on the topic change. "And we needed to do laundry. It took a while to find a clean one."

"That's going to happen when we have the baby, too!"

Okay, John has to concede that point. The number of times they've FaceTimed with Dylan and he's wearing a drool-stained shirt… "But then I can blame the baby," he says eventually. "Right now, I'm the one making the stains, and that's gross." John has officially spent too much time around Stromes, because he punctuates that sentence with an expansive hand gesture and his coffee sloshes over his cup.

Ryan just rolls his eyes and flips the omelette he's been making onto a plate. "Eat," he directs, handing it to John. "And then go find a non-stained shirt, Mr. Picky."

John resists the urge to make a joke about Ryan making a good house husband, because it's still a touchy subject, but his lips twitch. Ryan raises an eyebrow, and swats him on the ass. Then he turns around and starts making his own breakfast, and John lets the smile break across his face like it wants to.

Maybe he won't say it out loud, not yet, but he thinks that today's going to be good.

-0-

John comes out of the appointment pretty much walking on air. Everything's healthy, for both the baby and Ryan. Ryan's quiet on the drive home, but he doesn't seem upset, so John just lets him think. They make it all the way back to the apartment before Ryan takes a shuddery sigh and sinks into the sofa.

John kneels down and starts unlacing Ryan's shoes. "You okay?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer is _no_.

Ryan laughs, but it sounds more wounded than happy. "That was," he says, then stops and takes another shaky breath. "I'm glad everything's okay. Everything is good. The baby is healthy."

John pulls Ryan's shoes off and starts massaging his ankles, but he doesn't say anything. It's better to let Ryan work things out at his own pace.

Ryan grabs one of the throw pillows and clutches it on his lap. "That was terrifying," he says, voice small and shaking. "What if—so much could have gone wrong."

John winces. Knowing Ryan, he couldn't help himself and he probably googled complications. John did that exactly once; he almost made himself sick. "It's okay," John says. "Everything looks good."

"Nothing on the outside that should be on the inside," Ryan says, closing his eyes. "All the organs look okay. They're all there."

"A giant brain that I'm okay with you blaming me for," John teases, keeping his voice gentle like he does with Aiden.

"It could have been so bad," Ryan whispers, letting go of the pillow and reaching for John.

John climbs up onto the couch with him, letting Ryan grab him in a death-grip hug. "Breathe with me, Ry." He sets a slow, even rhythm.

He takes Ryan's hand and puts it on his chest, inhaling and exhaling steadily so Ryan can feel it. Ryan's breathing is shaky and out of sync, but he keeps trying. In the end that's all John can ask—that Ryan keeps trying to get through this.

"Okay," Ryan whispers after a while. His breathing is better, if not perfect, so John squeezes the hand he still has held to his chest and gently lets go.

"Want to watch the video again, so we can watch the baby try a kick save?" he asks.

"So weird," Ryan croaks out. He has definite opinions about watching the baby swim but not being able to feel it yet.

"I have it on my phone," John tempts. "We can forward it to Dylan after, if you want."

Ryan gives him a wobbly smile. "Let's call him first. Wanna see the look on his face."

"Great plan," John says, smiling. He waits as Ryan dials, then hits send when Dylan picks up.

"Hi! It's D-day, right?" Dylan lights up with a smile so wide he would easily fit in with the Muppets.

"Everything's fine," Ryan says, slumping back into John a little. "I'm healthy, baby's healthy. I was worried for nothing."

Dylan does an honest-to-god fistpump. "I knew it!"

"Baby," Aiden shrieks in the background.

Dylan rolls his eyes a little. "She learned one word and decided that she didn't need any others," he informs them. "I've heard her say 'baby' more times than I can count by now."

"Check your inbox," John tells him. "Maybe she'll get it when she can see them."

"Video," Dylan cheers. "Aiden, do you want to see the baby?"

Aiden repeats her new favourite word something like a dozen times as she toddles over.

"Time for the big girl to see the baby," Dylan says, scooping her up. "Uncle Ryan's baby. Ready?"

"Hey Aiden," Ryan says softly. "Feels like it wasn't too long ago that this was the other way around."

Dylan snorts. "Yeah, and JT told me he stays out of the media by being boring."

"Things change," John says, feeling his face heat up. "We're gonna need a new strategy."

"Lucky for you I've already been there," Dylan says. "I can totally help you plan world domination. But first: tiny baby."

"So tiny," Ryan agrees. "They're moving around in there, but I can't feel it yet."

Dylan settles Aiden in his lap, grabs hold of her hand, and uses her chubby finger to press play on the video. His face goes mushy instantly, but Aiden frowns deeply. "Baby?" she asks.

"Baby," Dylan confirms. "See, that's the nose." He points at the screen, and Aiden follows carefully. Then she pats her own face, to make sure her nose is where it's supposed to be.

"Where's your hand, Aiden?" John asks encouragingly. "Do you see the baby's hand?"

Aiden squeaks and flaps her hand enthusiastically. Dylan has to duck to avoid being punched in the face.

"Good job," Ryan says, smiling helplessly. "Show Papa where the baby's hand is."

Aiden slaps at the screen, and Dylan almost drops his phone.

"Gentle, Aiden," Dylan tells her. "No hitting."

She squints up at him, then very gently puts her palm over the camera on the phone.

John can't help cracking up. He's only human.

He can hear Dylan snort. "Well, you're not wrong," he says, and then Aiden's hand lifts away from the camera.

Aiden snatches her hand away from him, shoving it in her mouth for safekeeping.

"Okay, no more touching Papa's phone," Dylan says cheerily. "You guys have Otterboxes, right? Or Lifeproof cases? Trust me when I say those are no longer optional."

"I got mine before you moved here," Ryan confirms. "Aiden's grabby." Then he elbows John in the side.

John grimaces. "It's on my list."

"Back your phone up every single day if you don't want the case," Dylan advises. "Your phone is going to get slobbered on, then doused in formula. It's not going to make it."

"You're definitely going to drop it into a sink of dirty dishes at least once," Ryan adds.

John turns to him, horrified. "You never told me about that!"

"I didn't say it was me," Ryan counters. "But it's definitely going to happen to you."

Dylan snorts. "It's true. You can barely function without coffee now; just wait until you have a newborn."

"I feel like I have an advantage there," John objects. "I don't function any _worse_ on less sleep."

"Babe," Ryan says, patting John's thigh fondly. "You don't function at all until coffee. I'm hoping you improve."

"Night nurses are a thing," Dylan says seriously, but John can see him trying not to laugh.

John narrows his eyes. "Don't listen to them, Aiden. It's all lies."

"Baby," Aiden shouts, smacking the phone out of Dylan's hand, and that's when they all crack up. The phone hits the floor, and they get a close view of Dylan's toes. The Otterbox is definitely a good idea.

-0-

They have a day between the anomaly scan and Ryan's next appointment with Dr. Allen, and John sort of figured they'd spend it relaxing. Ryan apparently has different plans, though, because he doesn't wait for John to finish his third cup of coffee before saying, "There's something I think we should talk about."

"Okay," John agrees easily. He pats the empty seat next to him on the sofa and waits a minute for Ryan to get comfortable.

"Dr. Allen is going to ask me about meds again," Ryan says. "I told him I didn't want to make a decision until I knew how things were going, and now..."

John takes Ryan's hand, squeezing a little, but he waits. It was hard enough for Ryan to admit anything was wrong in the first place, let alone talk about it. Giving him time to get the words out is the least John can do for him.

"I think," Ryan says slowly. "I'm doing okay. Like, not _great_ , obviously, but I'm doing okay. Right?"

John smiles at him. "I think so, yeah. You've been working hard and it's starting to pay off."

"And everything's healthy," Ryan continues. "With me, and with the baby."

"Everything looks great," John agrees.

Ryan nods. "So why do the meds now?" he asks. "I'm handling everything without them, and the baby's healthy. Why not just wait until after the baby's born?"

"Are you asking me?" John replies. "Because it's up to you. I trust you, Ryan."

"I'm asking if you think it's a bad idea, I guess," he says, shrugging a little. "Like, it seems like the right choice to me, but my judgement isn't always great, you know?"

John lets go of Ryan's hand so he can pull him in for a hug.

Ryan leans into im and hugs back, but after a moment he wiggles a little. "Please use words," he asks. "This could be a 'you're right, Ryan' hug or a 'Ryan, I have some news for you' hug. I need words."

"I think it's a good idea, as long as it works for you," John says carefully. "But if it gets worse once the season starts and I'm not around as much, we can revisit then too. Okay?"

"Okay," Ryan says, sighing a little and snuggling into John a little more. "It's kind of nice to know that I'm not really misjudging things."

John holds him tight. "You're not misjudging things. I'm proud of you."

"It's kind of nice to know that, too," Ryan says quietly. "Not that I think you're not, but sometimes knowing something and believing it are two totally separate things. Hearing it helps, I think."

John can't help laughing a little. "Don't ever tell them I said this, but Dylan and Mitch were right. Words are good."

"Oh god, no, they never get to know," Ryan says, laughing. "Dyls doesn't need any more reasons to think he's more of an adult than I am."

"Exactly! I'm the captain; I need to pretend I know what I'm doing."

"Worse: they're family," Ryan says flatly. "You only have to deal with teammates until you retire. Family is forever."

John raises his eyebrows as high as he can. "You're telling me this _now_?" It's a testament to how much Ryan has improved that he just grins and facewashes John.

"Speaking of using our words, though," Ryan says when John recovers. "We should figure out what management needs to know, probably, and how to tell them."

John grimaces. "I know we have to say something to the media, but honestly? Why?" Being a responsible adult sucks.

Ryan pats his leg. "Because you can't follow your own advice about keeping things boring forever?"

"Hey, I was great at being boring until you came along," John complains.

Ryan snorts. "Sure you were, Mr. Exceptional Status, first overall pick."

John shrugs a little. "I was extra-boring to make up for it?"

"Exceptionally boring," Ryan says, poking him in the ribs. "So boring it came full circle and people couldn't stop talking about it."

"Boring enough that people stopped expecting me not to be," John says, shrugging. "But that's gonna change, I guess."

Ryan sighs. "Sorry. That's mostly my fault."

"No," John says immediately. "It's the media's fault for being nosy assholes. Anyone else gets pregnant, it's not front page news."

"It is if it affects their job," Ryan points out.

"It shouldn't matter," John says firmly. "But we need to tell them something so they don't start speculating."

Ryan looks away, fussing with the hem of his shirt. "They've been speculating ever since the trade fell through."

"Tell me you haven't been googling yourself."

Ryan shrugs a little. "Not... often?"

"What does Dr. Allen have to say about that?" John asks. He can't imagine the media is being kind and respectful.

"That they don't know me or my situation, so I shouldn't take what they say to heart," Ryan recites. "Also that sometimes my brain makes me think it's worse than it actually is, so checking in moderation is okay, as long as it really is just in moderation."

John puts an arm around him, and pulls him close. "Okay. That's... I can work with that." It's not what anyone told John to do, but he's really starting to grasp that Ryan needs a different set of rules for dealing with life. "Just let me know if there's anyone we should kick out of the locker room."

"Mike Francesa doesn't bother showing up, and the stuff he says about me isn't nearly as bad as some of the other shit he's pulled," Ryan says darkly. "Also, I don't think he'd be allowed in. I think we're good."

John hugs him tightly. "You shouldn't listen to someone who can't figure out how to buy a cork anyway."

"I'll take that advice every day," Ryan says, smiling.

John smiles back and pulls him closer. "Pucks and Paws is a couple of weeks away," he says. "We should figure out what we want to say to everyone."

"I've been talking to Dr. Allen about that, actually," Ryan says. "About how to present everything. Controlling the narrative, all that crap."

"Yeah?" John asks. "What's your idea?"

"Players' Tribune," Ryan says, giving him a small smile. "I can write about being pregnant and having anxiety all at once, then publish it online. I was thinking about maybe having it ready for media day, so it can all just happen at the same time."

John laughs a little. "That's sure not boring."

"I live for drama," Ryan says, voice deadpan, and then he laughs, too. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a great idea," John says. "I can't wait to read it."

"You'll be the first one," Ryan promises, leaning into John's side with a smile.

-0-

John's glad his mother is coming to visit soon, because honestly the nursery is still a mess. They have piles of stuff people have given them but none of it has a home, and whenever Ryan looks in there he turns green. Honestly, Ryan probably used up all his adulting points helping John figure out his media statement. Ryan had been really excited about setting up a place for Aiden, but it takes him pointing it out for John to get why it's so different this time: with Aiden's nursery, he'd just had to copy what Mitch and Dylan had already done in Toronto. Doing a whole different thing is a lot more stress.

Mitch tries to help by sending through the stack of lists he'd made when he and Dylan were trying to figure stuff out, but John takes one look at the sheer volume and decides Ryan doesn't need to see that. Picking between two different crib styles has been stressful enough; Ryan doesn't need to see the frankly astounding number of baby things Mitch had dug out of the depths of the internet. In the end John shuts the door and shoos Ryan away for another appointment with his shrink. It's another thing John thinks he'll probably regret putting off, but he's making that Future John's problem. Present John has to tell the world about his impending dad-hood. 

He calls the front office first, giving them an updated timetable on when he wants to go public and sending them a copy of the statement he and Ryan drafted. PK and Stammer are next; they already know, but John figures it’s a good idea to give them a heads up that he’s going public tomorrow. When he calls Matt Moulson, he just laughs and points out that he already gave away his baby stuff when John called last year.

He saves letting his teammates know for last; Ryan's not the only one who's nervous about how it could affect their locker room. Even knowing that pretty much everyone had been fine with Dylan doesn't make it easier. John's been openly G+ pretty much his entire NHL career, but the guys knowing that in theory isn't the same as knowing he's dating someone on the team. It has the possibility of getting ugly, but he takes a breath and makes himself call the guys one by one.

Eberle is hilariously relieved. "It'll be nice to have something to talk about other than the Oilers."

"We don't really want it to be, like, a thing," John says, making a face. "I mean, not that we want you to have to talk about being traded constantly, but we'd really rather the focus be not on Ryan."

"Yeah, of course. I just meant I can talk about how dating a teammate isn't as big of a deal as people think. From, um. personal experience."

"You don't have to come out," John says hastily. "I mean, if you want to, of course you can. But don't feel like you have to just to help us out."

Ebs laughs a little. "We were planning on taking baby steps out, anyway. We're living together this year and it's bound to leak, so why not get ahead, y'know?"

"New York media," John warns. "But if you want to, talk to management. They can put you in touch with a publicist, all that jazz."

"Trust me, I know all about media getting in your face," Ebs replies. "But thanks."

The rest of the calls go pretty well; most of the guys aren't actually surprised, and if there's anyone who's going to be a problem in the locker room, John can't tell from the phone calls. But he still feels like a mess when Ryan gets home.

"That sucked," Ryan says tiredly, curling into John's side.

"Hopefully tomorrow will suck less," John replies, holding him close.

Ryan snorts. "Tomorrow's media day," he says in the same tone of voice he'd probably use to announce an alien invasion.

"My favourite day of the year." John kisses the top of Ryan's head, and asks, "Is it too late to run away to Alaska?"

"Your mom gets here in two days," Ryan reminds him.

"It can be a day trip," John says. "Like, it'll take a full day to get there and back, I'm sure."

Ryan laughs and pokes him in the ribs. "It's nice that you're freaking out worse than me, for once."

"Ugh," John says as dramatically as he can, because he doesn't want to agree and make Ryan feel bad.

"Want a distraction?" Ryan asks, waggling his eyebrows.

"Mmm, yeah," John says, smiling. "Distract me." Between vicious morning sickness and the anxiety diagnosis, Ryan hasn't exactly been in the mood to make out. And John hasn't been in the mood to push him.

"Incoming," Ryan says, and he's not as smooth as he usually is when he swings a leg over John's lap and straddles him, but John isn't complaining. He places his hands on Ryan's hips and lets him take the lead.

It's always good with Ryan; it's not like they didn't have the awkward "getting to know you" stage of their relationship, but John had enjoyed that as much as anything else they've done. He loves it right now, though, because they've been through a lot in the past few months but Ryan's still here, still kissing him breathless. The baby might have something to do with John being breathless, too, with the way Ryan's belly is pressing into John's chest, but there's no way he's complaining.

They make out for a while; John's definitely not timing it, but he knows it's been more than a few minutes when Ryan pulls back with a gasp, eyes wide.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I think I felt," Ryan starts, then pauses. He starts smiling, wide and happy, and grabs John's hand, squeezing tightly. "I'm pretty sure the baby just kicked."

John moves his free hand to Ryan's belly, even though he knows he probably won't feel anything. "How can you tell?"

Ryan laughs. "Dylan said it sort of felt like ginger ale bubbles fizzing," he says. "That's what it feels like." He grabs John's hand and moves it left. "Right there. It's really small, though."

"Really small," John echoes. He can't help smiling.

"It'll get bigger pretty fast from here," Ryan says, but he doesn't look scared anymore.

John leans up to kiss him again, because how could he possibly not?

-0-

"Good morning," Snow starts, leaning into the mic. The crowd of reporters looks back at him, and John starts predicting which one will be the one to absolutely erupt with questions. He's betting on the sports guy from the New York Post. "We're going to start today with some team updates, and then we'll open the floor to questions. Please save your questions until that time."

There are more than a few unhappy faces. John makes a mental note of who to avoid calling on. If they're pissy about a reasonable request, he doesn't want to deal with them.

Snow drones on for a little while about draft picks, rookie camp, and Jordan Eberle, and then he shuffles his papers. "Which brings us to Ryan Strome," he says, and John tunes back in. "I know you're all aware that he was originally involved in the Eberle deal, because you've all been hounding me about it for months."

A few people laugh, but most them sit up straighter and clutch their phones like teddy bears. John figures that to a reporter, the moment before getting the answer to a juicy question is like the night before Christmas: excitement and hope, with just a dash of fear that the result will be boring. In a minute, they'll all be super thrilled when they realise they're not getting the journalistic equivalent of socks.

Snow cuts a glance at John—last chance to back out—and John nods.

"We found out at roughly the same time that he's got a severe anxiety disorder and that he's pregnant," Snow says smoothly. "We re-evaluated the trade criteria as soon as we found out, and I was on the phone with Peter Chiarelli immediately. He agreed to renegotiate the trade, and we wish Barzal and Beauvillier the best in Edmonton."

The room goes quiet enough that John can hear someone say, "Holy shit." He keeps his face neutral through sheer force of effort, because he knows half the cameras in the room have turned his way.

Snow pauses and surveys the room, then nods. "Ryan's not available for comment today, but he's releasing a Players' Tribune article this afternoon that you'll all want to check out," he says. "We support him fully."

Snow talks for a couple more minutes about how the team is taking another look at their development system, and how they evaluate the full spectrum of players' health. "It's important for our guys to know we've got their back."

John digs his fingers into his knee so he won't cry.

Snow wraps things up not long after that. The pause when he's done probably isn't dramatic, but it feels that way before Snow adds, "We'll take questions now."

John takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the shitstorm.

Sure enough, Mr. New York Post's arm shoots into the air. "John, what's your opinion on the whole Ryan Strome situation?"

"He's an asset to the team," John says as blandly as humanly possible. The guy's going to have to be more specific if he wants a usable quote.

"It's the second year in a row you're going to have a Strome brother having a baby while on your team," the guy persists. "And yeah, they're both assets to your team, but are you worried about locker room chemistry?"

John almost smiles, because it's such a softball for him to give a non-answer. "No."

Snow adds, "We were happy with Dylan's introduction last season, and we expect that to continue."

"Ryan won't be back for a while, but no, I'm not worried about chemistry," John finishes. Chemistry is kind of how they got into this in the first place.

"John," a woman from the Daily News asks. "We know that Dylan is married to Mitch Marner of the Leafs. Has Ryan told any of you about the other father?"

John has to bite the inside of his cheek. "Uh, yes and no. It's going to be a challenge for sure, but I'm looking forward to being a dad."

Mr. New York Post's face turns red, and then purple. He's clearly regretting going first.

The Daily News reporter smiles serenely as her colleague chokes on air. "Congratulations. When's the baby due?"

"January," John says, giving her a genuine smile. "A little before our second anniversary."

"You're _married_?" Mr. New York Post splutters.

John doesn't even know how to answer that. He laughs a little, and shakes his head.

"You just said—" the guy starts, but Coach Weight coughs loudly.

"Next question," he says firmly.

One of the SportsNet reporters raises his hand. "John, congratulations on the early start to the season." He waits a beat, through a ripple of gentle laughter. "What are you looking forward to the most this season?"

"Well, besides the obvious," John says with a grin, "I've played with Ebs before but it’s been a while, and I'm looking forward to seeing what he's got."

"Plenty," Ebs says cheerily, drawing the room's attention over to him. John's been more grateful in his life, but not too many times.

He glances around the room to make sure nobody's focusing on him, then pulls out his phone. _Dropped the news. We might have to ban NY Post from the locker room._ There are guys on the team who won't exactly be sad about that.

 _good!!_ Ryan replies immediately. _that guy's beard makes him look evil._

They'd had a _healthy discussion_ about whether or not Ryan should watch the press conference. John had convinced him to publish his article five minutes after the start time, which means that Ryan's been busy with Wordpress pretty much the whole time. It's a win-win.

 _have some ice cream for me,_ John replies, and then he turns his attention back to what he's doing.

-0-

John's honestly not sure how Ryan is going to handle it when John's mom comes, but as it turns out, he didn't have to worry at all. She takes one look at Ryan, declares that they're going to be ice cream buddies, and sends John out with a shopping list for things to make pierogis and babka while she and Ryan trade pregnancy stories.

John impulse-buys two bouquets of flowers while he's out, because he just has a feeling Mom hates that the apartment is so sparse.

"Oh, Johnny," she says, beaming when he returns and gives her both bouquets. "One for me and one for Ryan. How sweet!"

Ryan looks like he's biting his cheek hard to keep from laughing at him, and honestly, it's a great look on him, so John just shrugs a little as Mom goes to dig out the only vase in the apartment and arrange the flowers. John's perfectly aware that he turns back into a mama's boy whenever she's around, and he knows everybody finds it hilarious. Whatever; he loves his mom. He's not gonna be upset that people know it. Unabashed love for their moms is part of why John and PK are still friends.

"Were those actually for me?" Ryan asks, quiet enough that Mom can't hear. "Because, like. Thanks, but that's really... not necessary."

John kisses him on the forehead. "In that case, they were for the baby."

"You're sappy and it's gross," Ryan says, but there's nothing but fondness in his voice.

John sets the groceries down so he can wrap his arms around Ryan. It probably won't be long now before his belly gets too big for them to do this comfortably, so John wants to get his hugs in early.

"You're not proving me wrong here," Ryan says, but he hugs back.

John's mom makes a dissatisfied noise, and scoops up the bags of food. "Boys," she says, shaking her head.

Ryan goes to pull away, but John holds on tighter. "Nope, she's not actually mad," he says, loud enough for her to hear. "She thinks we're adorable."

His mom gives him her patented "good job" smile behind Ryan's back. It's not like he thought Mom thought he was fucking this up, but it's always nice to have confirmation.

"Everyone thinks we're adorable," Ryan replies."It's our cross to bear."

"It's only going to get cuter when you do that puppy calendar," Mom says, bringing the flowers in and setting them on the table. "Are you planning to be in it, both of you? They could do something very cute, I'm sure."

John honest-to-god squeaks. The image of Ryan holding a tiny puppy springs into his head, and it's so painfully cute he almost stops breathing.

"If John survives that long, I'm sure we will," Ryan says sweetly. "It sounds like he's developed some kind of sudden-onset breathing issue, though, so we'll have to get that checked out."

Mom laughs and taps Ryan on the shoulder. "Come with me. You can tell me what that baby likes for dinner."

"Food," Ryan replies, following her into the kitchen. "Lots of food. They don't like peas or pickles, for some reason, but other than that everything's game."

John knows better than to get in the way when she's decided to Mom someone. And it's not like he doesn't want to see Ryan spoiled, anyway.

He spends the afternoon watching over them, to make sure Ryan doesn't get overwhelmed, and sending pictures to his sisters. Mom outlines her plan for her visit, which seems to be centered around helping them get things ready for when the baby is born and spoiling Ryan completely rotten. She sings the praises of getting a home foot spa, and Ryan looks at her like he's just seen an angel in real life. 

"John," he says breathily, "why didn't we get one years ago?"

"I'll Amazon it," John promises, pulling out his phone. "Mom, which one's the best?" She's bound to have an opinion, so it's probably best to just ask.

Ryan crowds in next to him, almost cooing over the idea of water-jets on skate-worn toes. He's as happy as Mom was over the flowers. Maybe she has a point about John needing to spoil Ryan a little more.

Mom reads a few reviews on her phone before directing John to one that has more settings than he has fingers and toes combined, but he shuts his mouth, since Ryan looks like he has hearts for eyes.

"Hey," John says softly. "Do you think we should get two? His and his spa day?"

"Yes," Ryan says instantly. "Do they come in blue and orange? Can we be cliche like that?"

John laughs and scrolls down. Sure enough there are multiple colour options. "A blue and an orange," he says as he adds them to his cart. "Perfect. We'll get decals for the sides."

He knows without even looking up that his mom is laughing at him. He's honestly looking forward to it, though. It'll be a nice relaxing thing to do with Ryan, and John's spent enough time in hockey to know the first few days of training camp are going to be brutal.

Mom shoos them both out of the kitchen eventually, commanding Ryan to take a nap. John goes with him, because he might as well try to get back into a regular-season schedule. That's his excuse and he's sticking with it. He does share all of Mitch's lists with his mom, though. She'll definitely enjoy them more than Ryan would, and maybe it'll give her some concrete nursery ideas. For now John's more than content to just curl up with Ryan and run his fingers through Ryan's hair.

"I'm glad your mom's here," Ryan says sleepily, curled up against John, his pillow nest to his back. "She can help. And she makes good food."

"The best," John agrees. "Think the baby's going to let you sleep?"

"I think so," Ryan says. "It's still not a lot of movement. I can ignore it."

John slides his hand down the back of Ryan's neck and rubs slow circles between his shoulders.

"That'll help," Ryan says, smiling and closing his eyes.

He looks so comfortable John can't help relaxing along with him. In no time at all, he's asleep.

-0-

The amount Mom gets done in three days is both a relief and low-key terrifying. John's in awe, and he wants to know if her sheer productiveness is a parent thing that he's going to learn, or if it's just pure Mom. He has no idea how he ever thought they'd get it all done without her, and John's pretty sure he and Ryan are both going to miss her when she goes home tomorrow.

They definitely wouldn't be doing this, John thinks as Mom tells Dylan to turn off the lights in the dining room as she carries in a cake, candles blazing, and starts singing Happy Birthday. Aiden croons along, totally offkey, and Ryan can barely stop laughing long enough to keep filming her. She seems a little confused when the big, shiny dessert isn't put right in front of her, but she claps when John blows out the candles, so there's no disaster there.

Dylan comes over and elbows John in the ribs while Mom is cutting up slices. "So, what did you wish for?"

"I can't tell you," John says loftily. He waits for Dylan to roll his eyes, then glances quickly at Ryan. "But you can probably guess."

"Well yeah, because you're a huge sap," Dylan teases.

"Ryan says it's gross," John says, smiling widely.

Dylan snorts. "In that case Ryan is the king of gross. You should get him a paper crown."

Right on cue, Aiden leans forward in her high chair and grabs a fistful of cake. Ryan bends down to get a closeup.

"Rookie mistake," Dylan mutters. Instead of moving to help or anything, though, Dylan whips out his phone and opens his camera app just in time to catch Aiden shoving her prize right up Ryan's nose, icing-first.

John stares helplessly; his mother just cracks up laughing.

"Aiden," Dylan says sternly, and she whips around to look at him. "That wasn't nice."

"Ah," she acknowledges, then turns around and pats Ryan's cheek with her sticky cake hand.

"Don't worry," Mom says, scooping Aiden out of his arms. "I'm sure your brothers have done worse, hmm?"

"Yeah, but he was allowed to mash cake in our hair, too." Dylan snorts as he leans over, grabbing the baby wipes out of Aiden's diaper bag. He pulls one out and offers it to Ryan before doing some sort of tag-team dance with John's mom to get Aiden clean. John's pretty sure she's just going to stick her hand back into the cake, but maybe Dylan's got some sort of secret dad knowledge that John doesn't have yet.

Mom gets into a deep discussion with Aiden about something, and Aiden looks back at her very seriously. For probably the first time in her short life, she's not all Marner smiles.

"Ah," she says again when Mom pauses for breath. "Ah, ah. Oh?"

Mom turns to Dylan for a translation, but John's already moving to get the Cheerios.

"Frosted, multi-grain, or regular?" he calls, surveying their options.

"She has you wrapped around her tiny finger," Dylan calls back.

"Multi-grain," John decides, soundly ignoring Dylan. "That way she gets a couple of grains in, even if she decides to smush them around in icing first."

"Sounds like the perfect pre-season diet," Ryan teases.

"Who could go wrong with Cheerios and cake?" John asks, bringing the box into the dining room with him.

Aiden shrieks and wriggles in Mom's arms, but Mom's absolutely dealt with the baby noodle thing before, because she doesn't look like she's gonna drop Aiden even once. John hopes he's half that confident someday soon.

Ryan risks getting close to Aiden again. "If you're having Cheerios, that leaves more cake for me and the baby."

"Baby," Aiden echoes, frowning and tapping her chest.

"Big girl," Dylan corrects. "Remember? Aiden's a big girl now, and Uncle Ryan has a baby in his belly."

In hindsight, they all should've foreseen Aiden grabbing Ryan's shirt with both hands and sticking her head under it to try and find the baby interloper stealing her place as rookie infant.

"No baby," she reports, still under Ryan's shirt. She squawks with indignation when Dylan goes to extract her.

"Look, Aiden," Dylan says when he's got her situated on his hip. He points at Ryan's bump. "That's the baby. Baby's hiding."

She looks at him suspiciously, then leans over. "Peek-a-boo," she shouts, staring intently. When the baby doesn't appear, Aiden turns and glares at Dylan.

"She caught you," Ryan says. He's laughing so hard he looks like he might start crying.

Dylan sighs. "You're gonna be a monster for a while," he predicts, booping Aiden's nose. "C'mon, eat your Cheerios."

Aiden makes a roaring noise that sounds suspiciously like when Mitch reads the littlest dinosaur, and tries her best to turn her chubby little hands into claws.

"Yes, you're already a monster, we know," Dylan says, but now he's smiling at her. "At least you've been good for Sheena, right? While Papa's playing hockey?"

Aiden crams a handle of Cheerios into her mouth and beams at him with her mouth full.

"She was the star of the family box," Ryan confirms.

"That's because she's a little ham, just like her daddy," Dylan says. "Right?"

Aiden tries to smile wider; some Cheerio goop drops out of her mouth and onto Dylan's arm. Mom hands Dylan a wipe before John even has time to make a face.

"John, sit and eat some cake," Mom commands. "I hid your present in my room. Eat while I get it."

She vanishes, and Dylan blinks at him. "Uh. I wasn't aware that this was a presents kind of party."

"Score me a goal tomorrow," John deadpans.

When his mom comes back with shiny wrapping paper, Aiden breaks into applause.

"If she's not gonna break it, let her open it," John says quickly.

"Sorry, little one," Mom says, bringing it over to John.

"Noooo," Aiden whines.

John quickly pulls the bow from the top of the package and sticks is on the top of Aiden's head. "There you go, princess."

" _Look_ at your new _hat_ ," Dylan says enthusiastically. He grabs his phone and puts on the front-facing camera, distracting Aiden with the bow while John opens his gift.

He has no idea what to expect, but he tears through the paper as fast as he can before Aiden has a meltdown. Maybe he's starting to get the hang of the dad thing, a little. It's a book, so it's definitely a good thing Aiden didn't get to open it.

"A photo album," Mom explains, taking it from him and opening it up. "For your family."

"Oh," Ryan says softly. He comes over and presses close to John's side, patiently waiting for him to turn the page.

There's a single photo on the first page, Mom's careful handwriting captioning it with the date of Ryan's first ultrasound. John wants to stare at it forever, but equally he can't wait to see what's next.

He turns the page carefully and is met with the a photo of himself as a newborn, hands clenched next to his cheeks and a deep frown on his face. It's mirrored by a similar photo of Ryan.

John looks up at Dylan. "No idea about presents, huh?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Dylan says innocently. "I'm distracting my kid so you can look at pictures of yours. Happy birthday."

John puts his arm around Ryan's waist, and they look through the rest of it together.

-0-

There's surprisingly little backlash after media day; John was expecting to have to deal with at least a little bit of anger, especially after the guy from the Post made such an ass of himself, but the only person he has to talk to is PK, who predictably laughs his ass off. It's pretty great.

John isn't actually playing yet, because the prospects need ice time a lot more than he does, but he's still the captain. Facing up to the media is still part of his job. Most of the guys who aren't playing aren't required to be at the games, but John and the alternates are usually there, and Ebs usually shows up, getting face time with the team to build chemistry. John's always been a focal point for the media, but it's his birthday and it's a few days after he dropped a bomb on the media, so the buzz is more like a swarm.

"John," someone asks from the middle of the media scrum. There's always some turnover while he's home for the summer, and this is somebody new. "How does the team feel so far this year?"

John gives his usual bland answer—they're all feeling positive, the team is building great chemistry, it's good to be back playing hockey. He gets a few more softball questions, and it feels like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for someone to say something about Ryan or about him being G+.

They start edging closer to it, asking him how it feels to be a year older and a year more settled. He manages to get away with a simple "Feels good," which is when he hears Ebs laugh really loudly from a few stalls over, where he's entertaining his own crowd of reporters.

"The newest little Islander?" he asks, shaking his head a little. "Man, how did news about my dog leak already? Hang on, I have, like, a million photos on my phone. She's awesome. We named her Foghorn."

"You need another one so you can name it Leghorn," John calls out.

"If you think I haven't already started on that campaign, think again," Ebs replies. He shoves his phone towards the reporters, who coo at what is presumably a dog photo. "I wanted to get two at the same time, but I was overruled."

Clutter wanders over and peers at the screen. "Trust you to adopt a mutt."

"She's perfect, how dare you," Ebs says, swiping to another photo. "She doesn't have to be purebred to be a great dog."

"Hey, I never dissed your dog!" Clutter protests. "I'm just saying, you like strays."

"Fight me," Ebs says, smiling sweetly, and the reporters laugh.

The media is done with them soon after, and Ebs' distraction was good enough that nobody brings up Ryan or the baby. John waits until the last of the reporters head out, then walks over to where Ebs is staring fondly at a photo of a really, really ugly dog licking Hallsy's face. "Hey. Lunch?"

"Her name is Foghorn," Ebs says without missing a beat.

John snorts. "Okay, never mind," he says lightly. "I'll ask Clutter or Leds."

Ebs shakes his head. "I'll go with you if you compliment my dog for being an awesome distraction."

"The best distraction," John confirms. "I'll buy her a whole box of Milk Bones. Or, like, a nice, big bone from the butcher." The dog does have a nice smile, almost as big as Hallsy's. John can see why they picked her.

"She loves pretty much everything," Ebs confides as he stands and slips his phone back into his pocket. "Milk Bones will probably last longer, though."

"She loves everything," John echoes, laughing a little. "Sounds like she takes after Hallsy already."

"She definitely does," Ebs confirms as they walk out of the locker room. "Foghorn needs a Leghorn, though. You need to help me talk Hallsy into it."

John holds up his hands. "I'm not pissing off Hallsy. He bites."

"Nah, you have to ask him really nicely if you want him to bite," Ebs says as they walk into the parking lot. "Drive together so we don't have to park two cars?"

"Sure," John agrees easily.

John loses rock-paper-scissors, so they head for his car. It's fine; Ebs doesn't know his way around yet, not really, and this way John gets to pick where they eat.

Ebs makes a happy noise when John pulls up at a taco place. "I was kind of terrified that there wouldn't be any real food," he confides as John parks. "Brooklyn has... a reputation."

"Do I look like a hipster?" John asks, mildly offended.

"When in Rome," Ebs shoots back.

They're seated without anyone recognising John, which is always nice. He can't imagine what it's like in Edmonton. He orders a plate of soft tacos and helps Ebs pick all the right burrito toppings, and when their server heads back to the kitchen, he smiles a little. "How's it going? Settling in okay?"

Ebs ducks his head, as if that could possibly hide his gap-toothed grin.

"That's a yes," John says as mildly as he can.

"I never thought I'd be happy about being traded," Ebs admits.

"I get it," John says, smiling. He does, too; he'd lost Ryan to a trade for a few terrifying days, and getting him back had been pretty messy, but John's going to hold on with both hands. "How's Hallsy been?"

Ebs shakes his head. "I won't lie, it was rough on him at first. But you should see him with his new team."

"I have," John says. "He's a terror. I'm really glad it's working out for him, although I have to say that I hope it doesn't work out super well when we play them in a few days."

"I'll see what I can do," Ebs says, waggling his eyebrows. "Hey, speaking of the game. Want to get dinner after? You and Ryan, me and Taylor?"

"As long as it's before Ryan's bedtime, sure," John replies. He's mostly kidding, but the bigger Ryan gets, the more erratic his sleep becomes.

"We won't take it personally if we have to cut the night short," Ebs promises. "We just want to catch up a little, make sure Taylor's not getting too Jersey, that kind of thing."

John laughs. "I have so much to get Taylor back for. His Long Island accent is terrible."

"All of his accents are terrible," Ebs says fondly.

"That's why we love them." John shakes his head, trying to forget Ryan's last attempt at French.

"Amen," Ebs agrees, raising his water in a toast.

John is just ridiculous enough to clink his glass with Ebs'.

-0-

The Isles win 3-0, but they all agree that talking about it at dinner is off-limits.

Hallsy hugs Ryan as best he can. John's not entirely sure what the story is there, but judging by the fond look on Jordan's face it's probably a good one.

"We picked steak place because we figured everyone could find something to eat," Ebs says when Hallsy pulls back. "Steak seemed safe."

"Steak is awesome," Ryan says, his eyes glazing over with love for food.

Hallsy laughs. "Okay, I remember that look from Dylan. Anybody got pretzels?"

"He's gonna get french fries with his steak," John says, grinning. "It's very possible that it wasn't the pretzels at all. It was salt the whole time."

"Oh, you mean the Stromes are extra salty?" Hallsy snickers at his own joke.

Ryan throws his arm over Hallsy's shoulder. "I'm sitting next to you," he announces. "And then, when you least expect it, I'm stealing all your food."

John glances at Ebs and raises an eyebrow. 

"Don't ask me," Ebs replies. "He went to visit Connor the summer after he got traded, and I guess the Stromes imprinted on him like ducklings."

Hallsy makes a truly impressive duck face in response.

"Like rubber duckies," Ryan says solemnly, and Hallsy cracks up.

"Devil duckies," Hallsy adds, still laughing.

John blinks. "Oh my god, is that why Aiden has a million of those?"

"You didn't think it was Dylan, did you?" Ebs asks, rolling his eyes. "I mean, I don't know him that well, but I feel like he wouldn't go for a divisional rival's merch on his own."

Ryan elbows him. "Hey, it could've been Mikey and Nater."

"It better not be," Hallsy says, narrowing his eyes. "I told them duckies were off-limits. They can take, like, hair bows or something."

Ebs cracks up. "There you go, then. Duckies are serious business."

"I have plans for her birthday," Hallsy says, lighting up. "Oh man, Dylan and Mitch are gonna kill me. It's gonna be so great."

"If any more ducks migrate to my apartment I will take action," John says seriously.

"Take it up with Aiden," Hallsy says. "I dare you."

"Maybe I will," John shoots back. "She loves me the best."

Ryan snorts. "You're a solid second behind Cheerios. Sorry to burst your bubble."

"Well if you're going to throw me under the bus..." John says, and he gets out his phone. Dylan sent him the video of Aiden shoving icing up Ryan's nose.

"Oh, man, did we get her looking for the baby on video?" Ryan asks, laughing.

By the time the server comes over to take their orders, they're all more or less crying with laughter.

Ryan does indeed order steak and french fries, and Hallsy orders the same thing without even glancing at Ryan. John has the feeling his fries are going to migrate to Ryan's plate all on their own, without Ryan touching them. Clearly Dylan managed to get Hallsy whipped, somehow.

"I can't wait for Aiden's birthday party," Hallsy says once the server walks away. "Also, I can't believe that the Isles, Leafs, and Devils all have the day off. I'd say the scheduling people like us, but I've seen the schedule for the second half of the season, so probably they just like Aiden."

"It's going to be epic," Ebs says.

Ryan cracks up. "I can't believe you're older than John."

"I can't believe no-one's chirped Johnny for being a cradle robber," Ebs replies.

"You haven't been in the locker room for long enough," John says, rolling his eyes. "Or you haven't been talking to Anders or Leds."

Hallsy reaches across the table and pokes Ebs in the arm. "I still love you even though you're old."

"I love you even though you're a brat," Ebs says without missing a beat.

"Awww," Ryan says, resting his chin on his hand. "John, look: they're worse than you."

"You sure about that?" John says. He reaches across the table to grab Ryan's free hand, smiling at him fondly when Ryan sighs but squeezes back.

Ebs shakes his head. "Nope, you win. I'm okay with letting the captain win the cute-off."

John snorts. Most likely, Ebs is afraid of how far Hallsy is willing to go to win.

"But Pookums," Hallsy whines, proving John's point exactly.

"Nope!" Ebs repeats.

"Fine," Hallsy says, pouting. "I'm running away with Stromer. You guys can be adorable together."

"Oh my god," Ebs mutters, covering his face with one hand.

"John just bought us matching foot spas in Isles colours," Ryan says, patting Hallsy's shoulder. "Sorry, but if you think I'm leaving someone who would do that, you're wrong."

"And that's why you win. Because we're not even going to try and top that," Ebs says firmly.

"Matching foot spas," Hallsy mutters, and John picks up his water so he can hide his grin. Ebs might actually believe that Hallsy isn't going to try to top it, but he's probably resigning himself to it.

Ryan grins, which definitely signals trouble. "Anyway, Dylan told me your weakness," he says to Hallsy, poking him in the shoulder.

"I have no weaknesses, and Dylan's a liar," Hallsy says immediately.

"Oh cool, so you don't want to meet the baby after the All-Star break." Ryan looks incredibly pleased with himself for playing his ace card.

"If you withhold baby cuddles, I will make sure your kid gets the noisiest toys for Christmas," Hallsy threatens. "I know how to change diapers. You really gonna turn away someone who can change diapers?"

John turns to Ebs. "Do you think the lovebirds would even notice if we left?"

"Okay, no," Hallsy says, getting up from his seat. He comes over and plops down in Ebs' lap. "You're not stealing my boy."

"Dude, don't get us kicked out before I get my steak!" Ryan complains.

"I wouldn't even blame him for withholding baby cuddles if you get us kicked out before steak,"John adds.

Hallsy smacks an obnoxiously wet kiss on Ebs' cheek and then goes back to his chair. "Fine, but only for the steak."

Ryan makes a face, then reaches down to rub at his stomach. "I think you offended my kid. I'm getting punched."

Hallsy reaches out to feel, and John almost stabs him with a fork.

"Rude," Ryan says, grabbing his wrist before he makes contact. "Ask first. Also: no, because it's still too small to feel, unless your kidneys are directly impacted."

"And I get to go first," John adds.

Hallsy grins, as if that'll get him out of trouble. "Sorry."

Ryan narrows his eyes at Hallsy as the server comes over, putting everyone's food down in front of them. "French fry tax," he decides. "I get your starches. Hand them over."

Hallsy gives them up happily, and John almost feels like applauding him for a trick well played. He cuts into his own steak instead, watching as Ryan happily dives into french fry heaven.

-0-

"Do I look okay?" Ryan asks for the third time, before they even leave the apartment.

"You look great," John assures him. He does, too; he's wearing the paternity pants that Dylan had firmly told Ryan he needed with a soft undershirt and a button-up over it. There's no disguising the fact that he's pregnant at this point, which is probably what he's asking about, but John thinks he looks incredible pretty much always.

Ryan smiles tightly and grips John's hand as they head out. "At least the baby let me skip the acne this week."

"Considerate," John says with a smile. "Hey, look at it this way: you're not committed to be in the shoot. If nothing else, you can just play with a bunch of dogs today."

Ryan nods. "That sounds really good. And if I get stuck on the floor you can rescue me."

"I will," John confirms. "Only when you ask, though. I don't want to rescue you from all the puppies before you're ready to be rescued."

"That would be tragic," Ryan agrees, and his smile gets a little brighter.

"Is Dylan bringing Aiden?" John asks as they get into the car. "On the one hand, that would be incredibly cute, but on the other, she might get mad when she can't bring all of her new friends home."

"No, I think they're still trying to keep her face out of the media," Ryan replies. "Toronto's bad enough already."

"Then I hope she never finds out she missed meeting all the dogs," John says. "That sounds like asking for a screaming meltdown."

"I won't tell if you won't," Ryan promises.

The drive out to the practice facility where they're doing the shoot is nice; it's starting to cool off, so they can put the windows down and enjoy the last bit of warmth before fall really settles in. Ryan closes his eyes, but John's pretty sure he isn't sleeping. Waiting for the photo shoot, his first media appearance since he found out about the baby, hasn't exactly been easy on him.

John reaches over to squeeze his knee lightly when they stop at a light, not far from the practice facility. "It's going to be okay," he says. "The PR team is going to be there, and they'll help if you need it." John's also pretty sure most of the team is going to be in "injured teammate" mode, if the captain-and-alternates group chat this morning is anything to go by.

"Puppies," Ryan says. "There's going to be lots of puppies."

"So many puppies," John promises, turning into the parking lot and pulling into a space. "Ready?"

Ryan takes off his seatbelt and reaches for John's hand. "In a minute?"

"Sure," John says, rubbing at Ryan's knuckles. "Let me know."

Ryan does some deep breathing for a couple of minutes. John breathes along with him; he has no idea if it helps or not when Ryan's not cuddling against his chest, but it can't hurt.

"Okay," Ryan says eventually. "Let's go."

The first thing John hears when they walk in is the sound of probably half a dozen puppies barking excitedly. The second thing he hears, before the barking stops, is Aiden shrieking "Dog! Dog!" at the top of her lungs. He looks at Ryan, whose eyebrows are up in his hairline.

"Uh," Ryan says as they round the corner and find Dylan in his Isles jersey, crouched down, trying to get Aiden to very gently pet a puppy. "I thought she wasn't coming?"

"She wasn't," Dylan confirms. "And then during our phone call last night, Daddy asked her if she was gonna meet dogs today, and she learned to say a new word, and..." He picks Aiden up, over her loud protests, and comes over to dump her in Ryan's arms. "Also it seemed like you might need hugs."

Aiden responds to the H word in true Marner style.

Ryan looks about a thousand times better than he had in the car, and John mouths _thank you_ to Dylan over Ryan's shoulder.

"We still don't want her on camera, though," Dylan continues. "So if you need a break just let me know and you can take her for a walk."

The dogs all start wriggling excitedly; John figures Dylan hasn't learned yet that just like you don't say 'Cheerios' in front of Aiden, you don't say 'walk' in front of a dog unless they're already on a leash.

"Thanks, Dyl," Ryan says, still hugging Aiden, who is definitely her dad's kid, because she's not complaining at all. "We can play with the puppies together, right, Aiden?"

She lets go of him only so that she can clap her hands. Ryan sets her down, and she toddles back to the puppy pile.

"You guys go talk to the PR people," Dylan says. "Find me when you need to, okay? Just, like, follow the sound of Aiden being really happy about—"

"Dog," Aiden shouts. Dylan just shrugs and smiles.

"Finishing sentences for you already, huh?" John observes. "That's definitely the Strome half."

Ryan snorts. "Come on, I want to hold a dog."

PR introduces them to the photographers and run through a few disgustingly cute ideas. Ryan's relaxed and agreeable, partly thanks to Aiden cuddles, so they're on set in no time. They wait there for a few minutes, and then Ryan gasps softly and grabs John's arm. John looks up and sees the tiniest puppy he's ever seen in person, gently wrapped in a baby blanket, 100% asleep in the trainer's arms.

"John," Ryan says softly. "Look at it."

"Oh my god," John says, just as quiet, as the trainer walks right up to them. It's an Isles baby blanket, John notices distantly.

"Which one of you wants to hold this little guy?" the trainer asks.

"Me," Ryan says, eyes wide. "Or, like. Me first. He's gonna get to hold the actual baby first, so I want to hold the puppy first."

John's breath catches in his throat. Of course—Ryan's going to be in the middle of surgery, so of course he'll get to hold the baby first.

"What's his name?" John asks as the trainer helps arrange the puppy in Ryan's arms. The puppy, for his part, starts snoring.

"I've just been calling him buddy," the trainer says. "He'll have a new name when he's ready for his owner to take him home."

"Hi, buddy," Ryan croons, swaying back and forth a little. There's a huge, happy smile on his face. "Oh my god. He's so _little_."

John just nods. He has no idea how he's supposed to form words right now.

"Here, stand here," one of the PR people says, pulling John to stand just behind Ryan. "Keep looking at the puppy."

That won't be a problem; John doesn't want to look away.

"Hey, buddy," John says, putting his hand on Ryan's shoulder and leaning in a little more. "Wow."

The photographer steps forward and pulls the blanket down a little more, so the puppy is visible to the camera. The puppy makes an unhappy snuffling noise.

"It's okay, it's okay," Ryan says softly. "Just a minute, yeah? Then we'll get you all snuggled back up."

John reaches over and scritches the puppy's head to help him settle. He gives a tiny but clearly heartfelt sigh and calms, and John knows that the last thing they need right now is a puppy, but he also knows it's gonna be kind of hard to not leave here without one. He doesn't know if he's ever connected with Aiden more.

"Okay, guys, that's perfect," the photographer says, and John blinks and looks up. The woman is smiling. "But you can keep holding him for a little while if you want."

Ryan nods quickly, and John couldn't agree more.

-0-

Ryan's next baby appointment goes perfectly, which means that they're both in good spirits a few days later for Aiden's first birthday party. Dylan's keeping it low key, over protests from Mitch. They've got a room booked at the Children's Museum, and Dylan had sent an email blast to the team telling them that they were all invited but not expected to come. John's not surprised that the RSVPs roll in from guys who have kids, and polite refusals roll in from pretty much everyone else. Not many guys want to spend a day off with sugared-up toddlers. Ebs is the obvious exception, but then, John would have been shocked if he and Hallsy didn't show up.

"You know she's going to be more excited about the wrapping paper than anything else," Ryan says as John ties a ribbon around Aiden's present.

"That's why she gets ribbons," John says. "My sister said something about a friend of hers who saved all the ribbons off her daughter's gifts and then tied them all to a hat so she could wear them around."

Ryan laughs. "Oh my god, Aiden would never take it off."

"I might have mentioned it to Mitch," John says innocently. "I wouldn't be surprised to see him trying it."

"I wouldn't be surprised to see him make matching hats for both of them," Ryan replies.

"There go the Marner-Stromes," John says. "You can tell which ones they are by the ridiculous smiles and the ribbon hats."

"Very dapper," Ryan says dryly, obviously trying his hardest not to crack up.

"We would never lose them in Trader Joe's," John says, tying the last ribbon on. "Ready to go?"

Ryan pats his stomach fondly. "Yeah, we're ready."

They drive to the museum, because there's no way John wants to make Ryan take the bus. They get there a little ahead of time; Ryan suggested they arrive a little early to help with setup, just in case, but John's pretty sure he just wants to sneak extra Aiden cuddles, if he can pry her away from Mitch.

He's not surprised at all when Ryan and Mitch end up sitting together on the couch, Aiden snuggled between them in her glittery party dress. She keeps kicking her feet and ooooh-ing at the glitter, and Mitch looks pleased enough with himself that John would put money on it being something he picked out.

He watches for a minute, and she twists around to glare at Ryan suspiciously. Ryan does a double take as Aiden breathes deep and bellows, "JOHN!" clear as day.

John blinks. "Did she just..."

Aiden aggressively pats Ryan's arm and yells for John again. Apparently she's so used to them being a package deal that she's deeply unimpressed.

"Hey, Aiden," John says, walking over to stand behind Ryan. "Did you call me?"

Aiden grabs at him with both hands, and John lets her drag him forward. Mitch and Ryan shuffle over so John can sit down with them.

Aiden grunts while John gets settled, not satisfied until she can crawl across Ryan's lap and pat both John and Ryan at the same time.

"Do you think the d-o-gs made her bossy?" Ryan asks.

"No, that would be her dad," Dylan says, walking over and grabbing Mitch's hand. "Speaking of, I need to borrow you. The grandmas are ganging up on me over presents, and you promised in good times and in bad, so now's your chance to prove it."

Aiden barely even looks at them, too busy planting one hand each on John and Ryan's chests so they'll _stay put_.

"I definitely feel like a p-u-p-p-y," John mutters.

Aiden frowns and pats his chest. "John."

John reaches out and taps hers in reply. "Aiden." Then he taps Ryan's chest. "Uncle Ryan."

Aiden makes a suspicious face. "Rine," she tries.

Ryan scoops her up and kisses her face. "You're the bestest, smartest birthday girl ever."

"Rine no baby," she says, smacking a kiss to his face.

It's probably not worth arguing about it with a toddler, on her birthday, just before she gets sugared up on cupcakes.

A split-second later, Aiden shrieks and shoves away from Ryan. "No, no!"

John grabs her so she won't noodle onto the floor. "What was that all about, huh?" he asks her, then looks at Ryan.

"Aiden," Ryan says. "Did you feel..." He grabs John's hand and presses it to the side of his belly.

John thinks he can feel fluttering against his hand, but he's not sure.

"Just wait a minute," Ryan tells him.

Aiden whacks John on the arm. "John," she whines.

"I know," John says, cuddling her close. "That was scary, huh?"

"No baby," she says, but she sounds a lot less certain now.

John feels a thud against his palm, and he looks up at Ryan, eyes wide. "Was that...?"

"They're kicking," Ryan says, beaming. "Hard."

"Here, Aiden." John takes her hand and places it next to his. "That's the baby saying hi."

She squirms, then pokes at the baby. "No," she says sternly.

She startles when the baby kicks back at her. John's vaguely aware of cameras flashing, but it's fair, to be honest. First cousin slapfight is something that needs to be recorded. "No no no," she chants, twisting away, and that's when Mitch's mom swoops in and scoops her up.

"We'll give you two a minute," she says, smiling warmly before whisking Aiden away.

John glances at Ryan. "Oh my god, that was..."

"Hilarious," Ryan finishes. "But also wow, she kinda stepped on the moment."

John smiles as the baby kicks again. "I dunno. It feels like the moment is still going."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees, placing his hand over John's. "First moment of a lot to come, right?"

None of this was planned, and it's not going to be easy by any means. But it's definitely worth it. "Yeah," John says, smiling at Ryan, at their baby. "Lots more to come."

"Never fear, the cake has arrived!" Hallsy bellows as he enters the room. Because of course Mitch got him to pick up a Jersey monster of a pastry tower.

Lots more moments to come, and some of them will be stepped on by hockey players with their giant feet, but John wouldn't have it any other way.

-0-

Ryan's glad they got a sofa with a recliner in it. He knows he can't actually live in it forever, but since he and John brought Asher home last week, he's been seriously tempted to never move from it again.

Asher is a chill little guy, always looking around for bright colours and smiling faces. He loves shoving his entire fist into his mouth, blinking at John, and spitting up on Aiden. She's not his biggest fan right now.

Everybody warned Ryan that he'd be exhausted and he is, for sure, but not in the way he used to be, not like his brain is trying to climb out of his skull. Asher still isn't big enough to sleep for more than a couple hours at a time, and Ryan's up every time he's up, but when Asher sleeps, Ryan sleeps. He's not stuck staring at the ceiling and wishing his brain would shut up for long enough to let him drop off. 

It's not that everything is perfect, but Ryan's pretty sure this is the closest he's felt to it in a long time. Asher is healthy, John is beside himself with happiness, and Ryan's feeling good about things. He's gotten better at packing things away in the "think about it later" box. He's also working on unpacking that box with Dr. Allen every time they talk.

He never thought he could be this happy, just holding Asher in his arms and watching him sleep, making his tiny little baby-snores. He wishes he could go back and find himself at Matty's draft, freaking out in a hotel room in Chicago over a pregnancy test, and just let himself know that things would turn out fine. Better than fine, really. But then, if he hadn't freaked out so much at the draft, he wouldn't be doing so well now. Finding out about Asher pushed him over the edge, but it brought him back, too.

"Hey," John says quietly, sitting beside Ryan on the sofa. He looks rough; he hasn't shaved in a couple of days, and it's entirely possible that he's getting less sleep than Ryan is, or he's just getting less coffee than is probably necessary. Ryan loves him more than he really thought he could, and that thought doesn't scare him now. "He sleeping?"

"Finally, yeah." Ryan looks down at him fondly. "Turns out he's not a fan of me putting him down."

"Hopefully he gets my sleeping habits soon," John says, putting his hand on Asher's back. "It'll be nice if he sleeps well."

Ryan laughs quietly. "It'd be nice to have a pet unicorn, too."

"I bet if we got Aiden a pet unicorn, she'd start talking to us again," John says, grinning a little. "Probably still wouldn't be a fan of the baby, though. We're gonna have to work on that."

"She's like Dylan," Ryan says. "He didn't even want to look at Matty for a week."

"Your mom said Dylan tried to bite Matty," John replies. "I vote we keep them away from each other for a little while longer, just in case Aiden inherited that."

"Or we could rip the band-aid off," Ryan suggests. "Bring her over while Mitch is still here to distract her." She might take it better if Ryan is the one holding the baby this time, not John.

"We have a few more days of All-Star break," John says. "Let's wait a teeny bit longer."

Ryan can't help smiling. "You want to have us all to yourself, huh?"

"Yes," John says firmly. "I'm being selfish and I'm fine with it."

"I'm not complaining. Especially if you get me coffee." Technically Ryan doesn't need it, and cutting back on caffeine has helped a lot with his anxiety, but sometimes John needs an excuse to do something for himself.

John leans over and presses a kiss to Ryan's forehead. "I can do that. Want me to put on the skills competition since your hands are full? I'm pretty sure PK's going to do... something."

"Sure," Ryan says, patting Asher's butt when he starts sniffling. Ryan glances down; Asher's making a "gonna wake up hungry soon" face. "Actually, I think he's gonna need a bottle before I get my coffee. Can you get on that?"

"Absolutely." John kisses the top of Asher's head, and then leans in to do the same to Ryan.

He turns the television on before heading for the kitchen, and Ryan readjusts Asher a little. It's on commercial, but it switches back to the broadcast pretty quickly, and Pierre introduces PK, as if anyone listening wouldn't immediately recognise that voice.

"First of all I want to say hi to my newest fan," PK says. Asher twitches in his sleep. "JT promised they'd be watching, so I need everyone to say hi to Asher George Strome-Tavares. I haven't gotten to meet him in person yet, but let me just tell you how cute every single one of the photos and videos I've gotten are."

Ryan covers Asher's ears with one hand. "It's okay; you don't have to be a Nashville fan."

"He's balder than you, Pierre," PK says cheerily, "but no offense, he rocks it better."

Pierre goes on a tangent about John and PK playing together at World Juniors, because that's what people want to know right this second.

"Awww," PK croons about 45 seconds in. "I just got—sorry, Pierre, didn't mean to cut you off. I just got another photo. He's all sleepy and cuddly, and I'm sorry, folks at home, if you were tuning in to get high-level commentary on the stickhandling gate challenge thing that I wanted no part of. It's baby commentary time."

"Did you just send PK a new baby photo?" Ryan asks as John walks back in with Asher's bottle.

"No?"

Ryan snorts. "PK just lied to shut Pierre up, then, and that makes him my favourite."

John takes over feeding time at the zoo, which makes him Ryan's other favourite because even tiny babies are surprisingly heavy when they're sleeping. Asher's eyes pop open when John pokes his mouth with the bottle, and he latches on like he hasn't eaten in a month. He makes the same little grunting noises that Aiden had at that age, and it's just as hilarious the second time around.

Ryan hides his face in John's shoulder, and he's going to blame exhaustion for the way he laughs and laughs. "I have to get a video of that for Dylan."

"We should just let Dylan feed him when we see them for dinner," John says, amused. "We won't even warn him. See how long it takes him to notice, or if he's too used to it for it to register."

"Mitch would notice," Ryan says. "And then we'd probably inherit, like, half of the Bear Squad."

John shudders. "Have you seen the closet in Toronto? All those eyes stare into your soul."

"At least they're not otters," Ryan teases.

"I have nightmares about that thing," John says darkly. "I honestly remember thinking you somehow stole an otter and had it stuffed and it was in bed with Dylan." He brings Asher up to his shoulder, and Ryan's honestly not sure if John's going to burp him or if he's using his son as a security blanket. He's still not sure even when John starts rubbing at Asher's back. It could be both, he decides.

"Don't worry," John murmurs to Asher. "I'll protect you."

And yeah, Ryan thinks, sure and calm. John will, because he's been there and he's gonna keep on being there. They all are, this little family they're building, and Ryan's really looking forward to seeing what the future brings for all of them.


End file.
